Summertime Blues
by Nutzkie
Summary: So just what the heck happened following Graduation? Here's one possible answer to that question. The marginally anticipated continuation of my Where Eagles Dare story arc.
1. Prologue

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter One -**

When one brings up the subject of summer in a conversation, an entire host of ideas and connotations can be evoked. For some, the thought conjures up images of broiling hot days spent seeking respite from the oppressive and omnipresent heat. Others may think of lazy afternoons spent fishing or hanging out at whatever locale happened to strike their fancy that day. Others still may view the season in terms of its literal definition, picturing a mental calendar, bracketed by the dates of June 21st and September 23rd.

For a certain pair of world-saving teen heroes, however, the arrival of the warmest season on the calendar could be summarized with one simple word: _Marinating!_

The two weeks that had passed since "the graduation incident" had been lazy bliss for the young couple. With the villains laying low in the aftermath of the failed Lowardian invasion, there was very little to distract them from simply living in the moment. Neither of them dwelled on the question of what would happen in September, when it would come time finally face the reality of college. If they had learned anything from the events of the past few weeks, it was that the bond they shared was strong, and that nothing, neither distance nor circumstance, could ever drive a wedge between them. They would be together, forever and always, and nothing was ever going to change that.

They spent their days together, frequenting locations such as Lake Middleton, the mall, and Bueno Nacho, biding time and simply enjoying each other's company. There were few responsibilities and even fewer worries in this, their own private summer of love. The world was their oyster, or at the very least, the greater tri-city area was, and all of this taken together could only mean one thing for a couple so used to life on the cutting edge…

_The other shoe was about to drop._

And so it came to pass that on a typically lazy afternoon, as the pair casually strolled through the wide-open spaces of Middleton Park, the tranquil calm was interrupted by a familiar four-tone beep: An instantly-recognizable signal that trouble was on the horizon.

Kim groaned ominously as she reluctantly lifted her head from its position on Ron's shoulder. There was one spot, she had discovered, just above his collarbone, where the side of her head fit just perfectly. She had come to refer to it as "her spot," and in her eyes, it represented just what a perfect fit they were for each other.

Ron moaned in agreement as Kim brought the small, watch-like form of the Kimmunicator up to eye level.

"I guess the honeymoon is officially over." He lamented, casting his gaze downward.

"Honeymoon?" Kim retorted with a raised eyebrow. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves?"

"What? A guy can think ahead, can't he?" Ron replied defensively, eliciting a smile from Kim. The fact that Ron was so firmly committed to their relationship for the long haul came as no surprise to her, but the knowledge that he was thinking in such terms filled her with a sense of contentment that would be beyond the comprehension of anyone who had never been in such a position.

Savoring one last gaze into chocolate-brown eyes, Kim turned her attention back to the incessantly beeping device on her wrist and pushed the accept button, bringing a small image of Wade Load to life.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" she asked, her tone indicating something less than enthusiasm toward the circumstances.

"Sorry, guys…" Wade answered, already anticipating the reception he was now receiving, "but I'm afraid that we're gonna have to cut the honeymoon short."

"The WHAT?" Kim yelped, taken aback by the young tech genius's choice of words.

"Ya' see!" Ron interjected. "I'm not the only one!"

"Yeah, I gather." Kim muttered before returning her attention back to Wade. "So Wade… Getting back to the sitch at hand…"

"Right!" Wade snappily replied. "I just got a hit on the site, and it seems pretty weird."

"Great!" Kim moaned again. "I'm _so_ not in the mood for 'weird' right now."

"So what are we looking at then, my friend?" Ron inquired, stepping up behind Kim. "Drakken and Shego up to their old tricks again?"

"Amazingly, no." came Wade's curious reply.

"Dementor?"

"Nope."

"D. N. Amy?"

"Guess again."

"Cat up a tree?"

"Guys… Why don't we skip the game of 'Twenty Questions' and just have Wade give us the download." Kim broke in.

"Well sure, if you wanna take all the fun out of things." Ron groused, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest.

"Don't worry, trivia boy." Kim reassured him, turning to place a gentle hand on his cheek and grinning mischievously. "We can work on having fun later."

"Uh, guys…" Wade suddenly broke in, one eyebrow twitching involuntarily. "Can we hold off on the kissy-face until after the briefing?"

"Wha… Oh, yeah… _cough…_ Sure thing, Wade." Ron shakily replied, vigorously shaking his head to clear out the sudden parade of images that were racing through it. To his credit, Wade waited until he had the undivided attention of both team members before continuing.

"At about ten o'clock this morning, a video pod-cast was sent out over the internet, with messages of special notice being sent to all major government agencies and known super-villain trade organizations."

"Super-villains have trade groups?" Ron wondered aloud, scratching his temple and pondering just what a meeting of such a group would look like.

"Apparently they do." Wade observed before continuing. "The message wasn't real big on specifics, but the overall tilt was that it's a challenge to a treasure hunt of sorts."

"_Meh…_ If it's got Ed McMahon's picture on it, then I'm gonna opt to pass." Ron observed dryly.

"Trust me… It's not like that." Wade informed. "This is a different kind of treasure that we're dealing with here."

"Okay, we're listening." Kim commented.

"The message was sent by a scientist by the name of Doctor Barry DaLive. He's considered one of the world's top experts in the field of applied physics and alternative energy sources, or at least he was until he disappeared about three years ago."

"And now after three years, he suddenly decides to re-appear." Kim observed, quickly slipping into her "game face" persona. "The big question is 'why now?'"

"I should probably let him answer that question himself." Wade surmised, his fingers dancing rapidly across the field of keyboards before him. "I'm patching through the recording I made of the his transmission."

An instant later, the image of Wade was replaced by one of a tall and skinny man with pale skin, unkempt white hair, and an equally white lab coat. Thick-rimmed glasses sat perched atop a pointy nose, and thin lips were drawn tightly back to reveal a set of highly yellowed teeth. He wrung his hands eagerly in front of himself as he faced the camera with a crooked, twitching grin. All in all, he looked like a cross between Albert Einstein and Professor Beakman.

"Greetings and salutations, oh wise adventurers and glory seekers." He started to say, his gaze darting nervously back and forth between unseen objects to either side. "I suppose you're all wondering why it is you're receiving this message."

"The thought had crossed our minds, yes." Ron observed, clearly stating the obvious.

"The answer," Doctor DaLive continued, "is that you are all the best of the best in your given fields. You represent the most ambitious, the most intelligent and the most skilled members of your chosen crafts."

"Well, I did have help." Ron panned, casually brushing his knuckles across the front of his shirt.

"Quiet time, Ron!" Kim scolded. "Crazy scientist trying to brief us here!"

"These qualities are rare, and they make all of you ideal candidates for my latest project." Doctor DaLive fairly giggled with excitement. The man seemed downright giddy about the challenge he was laying out.

"Over the past three years, I have sequestered myself away from the world and all of its distractions, concentrating all of my efforts and energy toward my search for a truly limitless power source. And now, after three long years, I have finally succeeded!" He jumped around and danced a small jig as he said the last part, eliciting a raised eyebrow from all the observing parties.

"Man, freaky freak of the week!" Kim observed, not sure if she should believe what she was seeing.

"Yeah… Maybe three years of isolation was a bit much." Ron concurred, equally put off by the bizarre display. "This guy is off-center, even by my standards."

"However," Doctor DaLive continued, "such incredible knowledge can not be revealed to just anyone. The individuals honored with this informational bonanza must truly be the best of the best, and that is where you come in.

"Across the world, I have hidden a series of cryptic clues for you to find. As each clue is discovered and decoded in turn, it will point to the location of the next clue. For those special few who are smart enough, strong enough, courageous enough and lucky enough to find and decode all of the clues, the trail will lead to my secret research laboratory, and the secret I so eagerly await to tell you.

"So good luck and god speed, my intrepid adventurers!" he concluded with a flourish, waving his arms and raising his voice to a giddy squeal. "Myself and ultimate knowledge await you!"

With that, the transmission ended, and Wade's familiar image once again graced the tiny screen.

"Okay, so he seems to have grown up on the weird side of the tracks." Wade observed.

"You're telling us." Ron agreed. "That guy needs a one-way ticket to the happy hospital with a reservation for the 'special cell.'"

"Maybe," Kim observed. "But he seemed to be pretty genuine about everything just now, and if what he said is true…"

"Then it sounds like the sort of thing that should be kept out of the bad guys hands." Ron completed, quickly catching on to his girlfriend's meaning.

"Exactly!" Kim replied, flashing a loving smile in his direction. He may not have been the brightest bulb in the marquee, she had to admit, but he had been getting better at staying alert and keeping up with his surroundings, as his senior year grades could adequately attest to. In the past year he had really stepped-up his game, both physically and mentally, and he was quickly coming into his own as a hero in his own right. Looking back on the transformation, Kim found it hard to believe that she had ever been embarrassed about their relationship.

"And I'm guessing the best way to do that," Ron continued, "is to make sure we get there first."

There was no doubt about it… He was on a roll.

"Right again!" Kim said, leaning over to give him a light peck on the cheek. "I knew loved you for your brain."

"Really?" Ron asked playfully. "I thought it for my extensive collection of Fearless Ferret breakfast bowl caddies."

"As _if!"_ Kim snorted playfully in response.

The two of them started leaning into each other for another kiss when the clearing of Wade's throat brought them both back to the situation at hand.

"If you guys don't mind holding off on the tonsil hockey for a moment," he sarcastically panned, "I can feed you the first clue."

"Okay, go Wade." Kim shot back, her cheeks quickly turning a hue that was somewhat more reminiscent of her hair.

"According to the text file that came with the video clip," Wade informed, "the first clue will be found 'where yesterday meets today.'"

"That's it?" Kim inquired.

"That's it." Wade assured her.

"The clue is at midnight?" Ron pondered aloud, thoughtfully gazing upward and once again absently scratching the side of his head. "That's not exactly what I'd call specific and/or helpful."

"I don't think 'midnight' is the answer, Ron." Wade broke in. "Beyond the fact that it makes no sense, midnight is technically where today meets tomorrow. That's why it's written as twelve o'clock A-M."

"Oh… Well then I'm fresh out of ideas."

"_Easy come… easy go."_ Kim sighed silently to herself. Ron may have been getting smarter lately, but he still had his limits.

"We'll put our heads together here, Wade." Kim commented to the young tech guru. "You see what you can dig up on your end of things."

"Will do." Wade agreed with a smile. "I'll let you know what I come up with. Wade out." And his smiling image blinked out of existence.

Kim sighed forlornly as she turned to face her boyfriend once again. They had both suspected that something like was this was coming, after all: Life had just been a little _too_ perfect as of late. But still, when the harsh light of reality finally did come calling, it was something that neither of them was truly prepared for.

"So much for our perfect summer." Kim sighed as she gently placed her arms around Ron and nestled into his chest.

"_Meh…_ It was badical while it lasted." Ron observed, bringing his own arms up around Kim and pulling her close. He really had been enjoying himself he had to admit.

"Maybe it's not over yet." Kim half-whispered into his shoulder.

"Meaning _what,_ exactly?" Ron inquired.

"Well, it's somewhat of a walk back to my house," Kim observed, " and we're technically not back on duty until we get to my house and gear up." She looked up to meek Ron's quizzical gaze with a mischievous grin.

"Scenic route?" He inquired, quickly catching on to his girlfriend's meaning.

"You know it!" She cooed, sliding over to slip an arm around his waist as they both began to leisurely stroll in the general direction of Kim's home.

* * *

The streets of Middleton really didn't hold much to distinguish themselves from the streets of any other part of suburban America. They were laid out in the traditional grid system, with a few potholes thrown in to keep things interesting. The sidewalks were lined with the usual assortment of small, "mom and pop" stores and franchise chains that seem to sprout like mushrooms from the landscape of every urban center. For the most part, it was clean, comfortable, and perhaps best described as "spectacularly average."

When you have lived in such a place for your entire life, however, the monotony can reach ferociously elevated levels. Surroundings blur into static nothingness, and the mind searches for things to fill the void. As a result, otherwise normal conversations can take on lives all their own.

"I'm tellin' you, KP… It's like they're setting them this way on purpose."

"I don't think that our missing every light constitutes a conspiracy within the Public Works Department, Ron. Besides, what would be the point of it all?"

"Who knows, KP? Maybe it's some sort of deep-seated need for attention? Maybe somebody just has a thing for taillights? In any case, someone is setting the timers all screwy, and it's high time somebody got to the bottom of it all!"

"Ugh… Please tell me that you're not regressing back into your "investigative reporter" phase again. It took two months for my social life to recover from your so-called 'reporting.'"

"Hey! I _did_ expose Adrenna Lynn's phony-stunt scheme!"

"Face it, Ron. You're not Woodward or Bernstein. Now can we please get back to the original subject?"

Fine… Whatever." Ron groused, slumping back into the Sloth's passenger seat. He held the position in silence for a long moment before speaking again.

"Uh, what subject was that again?"

"The clue we're trying to decode." Kim groaned, casting her gaze upward in exasperation.

"Oh, yeah… yeah. Right." Ron replied, setting his chin thoughtfully into the palm of his hand and gazing out the window. "'Where yesterday meets today.' _Huh…_ That certainly is a poser."

"Yeah, and _we're_ the ones who are gonna look like posers if we don't figure it out." Kim growled under her breath. "Who knows how far G.J. or the villains have gotten by this point, and we're not even out of the starting gate. _Arrrgh!_ If we just had something that could point us in the right direction…"

"Who knows, Kimbo?" Ron absent-mindedly replied, staring blankly out the window at the passing streetscape. "Maybe we're just over-thinking things here,"

"Meaning?" Kim inquired, casting a raised eyebrow in his direction.

"Meaning that maybe it's not as hard as we're making it." He explained. "Maybe it's really something simple: Something that's right under… our… _noses…"_

Kim's attention was suddenly drawn away from the road and toward her boyfriend as Ron's words trailed off. Glancing across the Sloth's spacious interior, she could see just enough of Ron's face reflected in the window glass to tell his eyes had gone wide, and his jaw was hanging slack.

"Ron?" She asked with a suddenly elevated level of concern.

"KP, stop the car!" he abruptly commanded.

"Ron… We're in the middle of the…"

"STOP THE CAR!"

The sound of screeching tires suddenly filled the air as vulcanized rubber was eviscerated across hardened asphalt. Cranking the wheel hard right, Kim sent the Sloth skidding across two lanes of traffic and brought it to a stop along the curb, perfectly positioned in a parallel parking spot. It was a maneuver that would have made the likes of Jim Rockford proud.

"Okay, Ron!" Kim growled, both confused and perturbed by Ron's sudden antics. "So just what the heck is the sitch, anyway?"

"That!" Ron shot back emphatically, thrusting a finger toward a large building with a domed atrium and colonnade entrance that was set back some distance from the curb. "The place where yesterday meets today!"

Kim squinted through the glare of afternoon sun on safety glass, trying to identify the structure that Ron had indicated. Her eyes went wide when she recognized just what it was.

"The Tri-City History Museum?" she exclaimed, shifting her gaze back to Ron. "Totally _spankin'!"_

* * *

The Tri-City museum was a rather eclectic place, when you got right down to it. Far from the usual small-town museum that focuses solely on the story of its geographic location, the facilities here documented history in a multitude of forms and locales. Within its extensive network of corridors and exhibition halls there were exhibits on natural history, European history, ancient Egypt and the twentieth century in general. When you factored in rotating and traveling exhibits, just about anything with a history behind it could be viewed and studied there.

Walking through this veritable maze of antiquities, two young figures searched for something of which the identity was unknown to them. Kim silently rued the fact that the clue had been so ambiguous, but there was no denying that the location seemed to fit.

Kim had to smile as she thought about the events that had transpired just a few moments ago. Against all odds, and true to his random nature, Ron had come through in the clutch once again. Through his absent-minded conversation and disorganized thought patterns, he had somehow managed to put two and two together, and had set them on the right track.

"_Score another one for the 'Ron Factor.'"_ She thought to herself, casting a glance at Ron, who was sweeping his eyes from side to side, scanning the hallway for anything that might resemble a clue. He didn't now what he was looking for, (neither of them did), but together they simply trusted that they would know it when they saw it.

Turning a corner into one of the museum's many exhibit halls, they did see something, although it wasn't nearly what they expected.

"Aw, _man!"_ Ron moaned. "Even after graduation I get _Barkinated!"_

Sure enough, in the middle of the expansive room, standing as tall and intimidating as ever, was the perennial Middleton High Vice Principal and jack-of-all-trades substitute teacher, Steve Barkin. Surrounded by high school-aged children, he was throwing himself into a lecture with all of his typical gusto, and failed to notice the two familiar teens that had just made their entry into the room.

With a speed and agility that comes with being an all-state running back, Ron grabbed Kim's arm and pulled them both behind one of the many natural history exhibits that filled the room.

"Okay, so why are we hiding?" Kim inquired, somewhat confused by Ron's sudden bout of shyness.

"Think about it, KP… That's _Barkin_ over there!" Ron explained in an excited whisper. "If he sees me, he'll give me extra homework for sure!"

"Ron, we've graduated… remember? Your not even one of his students anymore."

"Yeah… Somehow, I don't think he's gonna let a little detail like that stop him."

"Paranoid much?"

"Naïve much?"

The conversation pretty well ran out of steam at that point, and the couple spent the next few minutes observing the activities in silence. From what they could gather, the group was part of a field trip for one of the Middleton High summer school classes, and the irritated mannerisms of the students seemed to confirm that this was indeed a group of people who would much rather be somewhere else.

And in a sense they were, or at least their minds were, at any rate. As Barkin droned on about the position of mankind on the evolutionary ladder, his charges shifted both their gazes and their feet listlessly, wondering for how long they would be subjected to this academic torture.

Finally, after several minutes of pointless prattling, Barkin moved on, dragging his gaggle of unwilling pupils lethargically behind him. Only after the group was out of sight, did Ron finally feel comfortable with relinquishing his hiding place, and the pair slowly left their concealment, walking out into the center of the room.

This simple act, however, put Ron onto an entirely different set of neuroses. With the imposing figure of Steve Barkin no longer blocking the view, the room's main exhibit was now clearly visible. "Going Ape!" was the exhibit's title, and at the center of it all was a diorama showcasing taxidermy examples of various primates.

"_Gaaaah!_ Monkeys!" Ron exclaimed, ducking fearfully behind Kim as she sighed at yet another of Ron's many phobias rearing its neurotic head.

"Ron," she said reassuringly. "They're all stuffed. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"Or maybe that's just what they _want_ us to think!" Ron shot back, retreating even further behind his girlfriend.

Kim was just about grab him by his collar and physically drag him to his feet when a voice rang out through the now deserted room. It was a voice that both teens knew all too well.

"Spending your summer vacation at the museum, you two? You losers don't even know how to relax right."

Kim grimaced for a moment, but then quickly composed herself and turned around to face the lone straggler who had apparently escaped Barkin's ever-watchful gaze.

"Hello, _Bonnie."_ She said, spitting out the last word as an epithet. "How's the extended academic year treating you? Flunked out of _recess_ yet?"

"Ha-ha… That's really clever, K." the leggy brunette snarked. "And don't think that I've forgotten how you're the one who got me into this situation!"

Kim sighed deeply. Somehow Bonnie always seemed to rationalize that everything bad in her life was the head-cheerleader's fault. And while she would have liked nothing better at that moment than to stand there and debate the girl on the subject of personal responsibility, she had other priorities to tend to.

"I'm sure you'll deal, B." she stated flatly. "But we're sort of working right now, so if you don't mind…"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Bonnie exclaimed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't realize that you were in the middle of one of your 'world-saving adventures.' What is it this time? That icky blue guy trying to take over some small. third-world country with a name nobody can pronounce?"

The two girls continued to trade barbs in this fashion for several minutes, each so caught-up in verbally slamming the other that neither of them noticed Ron produce a small digital camera from his pocket and stealthily reposition himself so that the brunette was directly between him and the exhibit.

"_Hey!_ What the…?" Bonnie shrieked as she was momentarily blinded by the flash.

"Wow! And they look so _human!"_ Ron shouted with mock excitement.

It took several seconds for the well-tanned former cheerleader to realize the nature of what had just happened, but her mind slowly processed the details: The camera, the angle, the hairy, hunched-over figures that were directly behind her. When realization finally did take hold, her eyes flashed a level of rage that would have sent chills down the spine of even the most battle-hardened soldier.

"WHY YOU LITTLE…!" she screamed, lunging at Ron. Ron artfully sidestepped the attack, however, and took off running, blazing a path down a nearby hallway with 110 pounds of brown-haired fury right on his heels.

Kim could only smile as she began to casually stroll after the two retreating forms. The more things changed, she silently observed, the more they seemed to stay the same.

* * *

Running from an enraged Bonnie Rockwaller, Ron was quickly discovering, was like trying to outrun a storm. Sure, you might be able to keep ahead of it for a time, but it'll just keep coming and coming, while you on the other hand will eventually tire out. And just like the storm, when Bonnie finally _did_ catch up with you, it was not going to be a pleasant experience.

What he needed, he thought quickly, was a safe haven. Someplace sheltered to hide and ride out the raging tempest that was currently stalking the corridors, looking to put his grotesquely severed head on a stake. Ducking into another exhibit room, he pulled up short and looked the space over for anything that might be useful as a form of concealment.

The room was occupied by a military exhibit, with display cases lining the walls, showcasing a large collection of small arms and equipment from several different nations. In the room's center, behind velvet ropes, was a diorama depicting a desert battle scene, complete with landscaping, uniformed mannequins and an M4 Sherman tank with its gun lowered and ready to fire.

His mind was wandering to just how cool the whole scene looked when an angry crash from a nearby corridor reminded why he was running right now. Thinking quickly, he vaulted over the rope barrier and dove head first under the belly of the tank. Then, he lay as flat as he possibly could and held his breath, not daring to make even the slightest sound.

From his hiding place he watched anxiously as a pair of well-tanned, muscular legs entered the room and stalked methodically about. He thought about how appropriate the setting was, with regalia of the battlefield surrounding them on all sides, for he knew that if Bonnie found him, the ensuing ruckus would almost certainly set off World War III.

For several minutes, time drew out like a blade, moving in an excruciatingly slow fashion, with every tick of the clock a seeming eternity as the brown-haired lioness stalked her hapless prey. Then, after what seemed to Ron like an entire lifetime, she turned on her heels and left, apparently assured that the room was empty except for her and the exhibits. Overcome with relief, Ron released the breath he wasn't aware he had been holding, and spit out the sand that had invaded his mouth when had first taken cover.

"_Pa-tooey!_ I guess I had my desert and ate it too, eh Rufus? _Yeeach!"_

Rufus responded by poking his head out of Ron's pocket and blowing a raspberry. The tiny creature may have suffered from a limited vocabulary, but he certainly had no trouble with expressing himself when it counted.

Ron smiled, knowing that he could always count on his little buddy to back up his opinions, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Taking one last look around to be sure that the coast was clear, he lifted his head up… and bonked it on the belly of the steel beast above him.

"_Gah!"_ he cried out in pain, cursing to himself. "First rule of combat, you idiot: Keep your stupid head down!"

Rubbing the now quickly forming lump on the back of his head, Ron rolled over and looked up to swear an oath against the offending object. The words died on his lips, however, when he noticed a worded message scrawled across the olive-green steel. It wasn't like the labels and warnings that were to be found on other parts of the armored monster, as they were neatly stenciled in the typical military script of the day. This message was different; seemingly hand-written across the cold, riveted surface.

His eyes narrowed with concentration as he read aloud the strange message that had been so carefully written on an even stranger medium…

"_By torch's light on the pilgrim trail…_

_Where blood and guts stained the fox's tail…_

_And the tiger lays in the panthers' den…_

_Awaiting fair Eos to ride again."_

The cryptic passage elicited a raised eyebrow from Ron as he read it once again to make sure of what he was seeing. Privately, he had been hoping that the clues would get easier as things progressed. Now, it seemed, that they were not going to be so lucky.

He was just starting a third reading when the sound of Kim's voice pulled his attention away.

"Ron!" she cried out from the room's entrance. "Are you in here?"

"Over here, KP!"

"Over where?"

"Over here, under the mean, green machine!"

Walking over and stepping into the display area, Kim knelt down and regarded the form of her boyfriend, flat on his back, staring intently at the underside of the monstrous machine.

"Do I even want to know?" she inquired.

"That depends." Ron replied matter-of-factly. "Do you want to know what to know what the first clue is?"

"What? No way!" she exclaimed, quickly rolling onto her back and sliding into position beside Ron. She quickly scanned the hand-scrawled message and furrowed her brow in thought as she contemplated its cryptic meaning.

"Well, what do you think?" she finally asked, keeping her eyes firmly in place on the message above them.

"I think the Mets trading for Mike Piazza was pure genius."

"About the clue!"

"Oh, yeah… Well, I will say one thing: He cuts a pretty good rhyme."

"Yeah, mad love for the lyrics," Kim panned. "But that doesn't help us figure the meaning."

"You're asking me to figure this out?" Ron moaned. "Let's face it, Kim… I've never exactly been the sharpest pixel on the screen."

"May I remind you that you're the one who's figured out every step so far?" Kim reassured, reaching over to lay a comforting hand on his chest. "Now c'mon, baby… I'll take whatever you've got."

Ron pursed his lips and stared intently at the words inscribed above him. It seemed as though he was trying to melt a hole through the steel with the strength of his gaze; as if through sheer force of will, he could divine its meaning. For nearly a minute he maintained this vigil. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he finally relaxed.

"I give up, KP." He admitted, his voice filled with disappointment and disgust at having let the most important person in his life down. "I guess I'm just not much for word problems. Heck, I can't even figure out the placement of this flippin' thing!"

"Meaning _what_ exactly?" Kim inquired.

"Well, I mean, it just seems like a ferociously strange place to write a coded message is all." Ron explained. "I mean, I'm laying here, as uncomfortable as all heck, with a kink in my neck and sand in my shorts. And you're telling me this guy went to all the trouble of sneaking in here, writing this out, and sneaking back out again, while all the while dodging museum security? Why in the name of all that is warm and cheesy would somebody do all of that hassle for no good reason?"

Kim furrowed her brow once again, contemplating Ron's words. He made a good point, after all, she had to admit. Taking the time and trouble to post the message where they had found it was something that truly ranked as "over-the-top" in the presentation department. It was an extraordinarily difficult and incredibly stupid thing to do when there was no real point to it all, and that could only mean one thing…

There really _was_ a point!

Slowly, Kim glanced over at her boyfriend with a sideways grin that always indicated she was having one of her epiphany moments.

"Ya' know, I think you're on to something." She said with a bemused smile.

"Beg pardon?" Ron asked confusedly.

Without another word, Kim leaned over and planted a quick but firm kiss on his cheek. Then, she slid herself out from under the tank and got back onto her feet with Ron dutifully following suit. Briskly, she strode over to one of the nearby placards that explained the details behind the many historical displays, and Ron stood silently behind her as she intently read several paragraphs. He took special note when the corners of her mouth curled up into a wicked grin.

"What? What is it?" he asked excitedly, bobbing around to get a better view from over her shoulder. Kim simply turned around to face him, the grin now nearly splitting her face in two.

"I know where we're going." She stated, anticipation already building in her voice.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Alright! So maybe things moved a little slow in this chapter, but I thought it was necessary to lay some groundwork for future installments. I'll be picking up the pace somewhat in future chapters, so _please_ don't open up with the flame-throwers just yet.

As a word of warning, I'd like to say that updates might be somewhat slower in coming with this story when compared with my previous works. From what I've outlined so far, this story promises to be my longest and most complex effort to date, with several minor storylines woven into the larger, overall plot. These are uncharted waters that I'm now treading into, and I'll probably be moving slowly and carefully, lest I write myself into a corner and wind up not finishing the confounded thing at all!

Additionally, it's only fair to warn you that I may be changing the title of this story at some point in the future. While I believe the current title does fit the story, it smacks as just a little bit cliché to me. If I can think of something better, then I'll make the necessary revisions. If not, then just forget I said anything about it.

And major kudos to anyone who can figure out the meaning of the first riddle. There will be several clues like this one scattered throughout the story, so anyone who's so inclined can keep their intellect occupied and their mind wracked.

In any case, feel free to read and review at your own leisure. All input is welcome, but if you're snarky, sarcastic or just plain rude, there will be a 5.00 surcharge for putting up with you.

Copyright 2007, void where prohibited, all rights reserved, yada yada yada, so there!

_Nutzkie…_


	2. Some Like it Hot

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Two -**

"Okay, so run this by me one more time."

"It's simple, Ron." Kim patiently explained to the tow-headed young man seated in the cockpit ahead of her. "The riddle ties into the display at the museum."

"Oh-kaaaaay… I'm listening."

"The phrase 'by torch's light 'long the pilgrim trail' is a ref to World War Two." Kim explained. "In November of 1942, the Allies kicked off 'Operation Torch' when they invaded North Africa. Their eastward line of advance followed roads that had been carved out of the desert by Islamic pilgrims during the seventh century."

"So that explains the first stanza." Ron observed. "Now what about the ref about the bloody forest creatures?"

"Actually, they're _nicknames,_ Ron." Kim clarified. "One of the decisive battles of the campaign occurred when the German forces under Field Marshal Erwin Rommel faced off against troops led by General George Patton at a place called El Katar. It was all explained in the exhibit, you know."

"Sorry… I wasn't doing much reading at the time: I was too busy_ running for my life!"_ Ron observed dryly.

"Well that's what you get for burning Bonnie like that. But in any case, back to the original subject."

"Which was something about nicknames, or what not."

"Right! Rommel and Patton's respective nicknames were 'The Desert Fox" and 'Ol' Blood 'n Guts.'"

"Alright… That takes care of the bloody fox reference. So what about the other two lines?"

"Well unless I miss my guess…"

"Which you never do…"

"That's a reference to some of the German vehicles used."

Kim paused for a moment, and took Ron's pronounced silence as a sign that he was listening. Taking a deep breath, she plowed ahead.

"The primary German battle tank at the time was something known as a 'Panther Tank.' From what Wade dug up online, it was pretty widely used."

"And the tiger?"

"That was a brand new design at the time, and as far as we can tell, there was only one used in the battle. Wade thinks it was deployed along Rommel's left flank, and was probably knocked out early in the fighting."

"Okay… So it sounds like if we find wherever this fox-guy's flank was, then we'll have our spot." Ron thought aloud, his words echoing Kim's own conclusions exactly. "The question now is 'what about the last line?'"

"I've been doing some thinking about that," Kim admitted, pulling up a research file on the console screen before her, "and I think I may have figured that out."

"Well don't keep us in suspense, then." Ron pleaded as he made a slight adjustment to their flight path.

"Yeah… Spill!" Rufus chattered from his perch atop the headrest of Ron's ejection seat.

"Well, Eos was the Goddess of the Dawn in ancient Greece," Kim explained, her tone suddenly switching to one of intense speculation, "and the valley where the battle was fought runs more-or-less north and south. That means when the sun rises in the morning, the first light will be cast along the ridge at the valley's western edge."

"And you think that's where tall, dark and freaky posted the next clue?"

"This is what I'm saying."

"Well we're about to find out, then." Ron commented as he smoothly reduced throttle and began to incrementally deploy his flaps. "We're here."

* * *

For a split-second after opening the canopy, Ron actually thought he had parked too close to another plane. The sudden wave of blast furnace-like heat that struck his face had all the characteristic intensity of jet exhaust, and literally made him flinch out of pure reflex.

Then he remembered that this couldn't be the case. He and Kim were alone, after all: Two solitary figures, awash in a sea of sand. There were no other airplanes within a thousand miles, in all likelihood. The heat he felt was simply that of the Sahara Desert: Nature's very own branch office of Hell.

Moments later, he had followed Kim down the pair of ladders that extended from the sides of Sky Rat's fuselage, and the pair surveyed their surroundings. It didn't take long before Kim had gathered her bearings, and turned to more immediate concerns, producing a tube of sunscreen from one of her equipment pouches.

"Here! Load up!" she commanded, casually tossing the tube to Ron once she was done. Ron dutifully complied, generously applying the floral-scented cream to all areas of his exposed skin before turning to other matters.

"C'mon, Rufus!" he called out, reaching into his hip pocket. "It's doctor's orders, little buddy! You know how easily you burn!"

The tiny rodent crossed his arms defiantly as he was pulled from his denim abode. Truth be told, he _hated_ the greasy, scented substance, and he loudly warbled his objections as Ron proceeded to give him a full-body rub down.

Once satisfied that everyone was adequately protected from the scorching desert sun, the team headed for the precipice of a nearby ridge, hoping to gain a better vantage point to their surroundings. It took several minutes, but to spite the double-barreled assault of heat and slope, the duo reached the top without undue delay.

Once in position, Kim activated the Kimmunicator and pulled up a digital map of the area.

"According to the data Wade sent us," she observed, looking out over the valley below them, "the fifteenth panzer division of Rommel's Afrika Korps would have attacked from over there." She pointed to a low spot in the mountains at the valley's far end. "Patton's forces would have been dug in along the ridge just below us."

"C'mon! Let's check it out!" she insisted, pausing only a moment before proceeding down the slope, leaving Ron to play a desperate game of catch-up.

Soon the pair was walking through the remains of earthen fortifications, the three-sided forms of artillery revetments still clearly visible in the arid landscape, even more than sixty years after the fact. In the valley below, the rusted hulks of burned-out tanks still littered the landscape, oxidized reminders of a bygone era, slowly becoming one with the desert that surrounded them.

Ron had to admit that he was really quite surprised. Although the giant sand dunes that most people so closely associated with the Sahara were clearly visible in the distance, the ground where they now stood was rocky and pebble-strewn, and this simple fact created the means for an amazing act of natural preservation. Free from the reshaping effects of the desert's ever-shifting sands, and shielded from the forces of precipitation and erosion, the land itself was virtually unchanged since the great battle that had been fought here. Vehicles and equipment were still strewn about, and brass shell casings still glinted in the blistering sun. In some areas, the tracks of vehicles could still be seen pressed into the gravel-covered ground, scrawled out across the earth in a series graceful, looping arcs and tight, erratic squiggles. Indeed, if one didn't know any better, he would swear that men had fought and died here as recently as a few weeks ago.

Making their way across the deserted battlefield, the intrepid duo eventually stopped to take a breather in the small amount shade offered by one of the many knocked-out tanks. Ron wiped the sweat from his brow before asking what he assumed to be the next logical question.

"So how do you figure we're gonna find this tiger tank thingy, KP?" he inquired curiously.

"Hmmmm…" Kim thoughtfully hummed, carefully studying the Kimmunicator. "If I'm reading this right, the German left flank was over there, beyond that outcropping. Our mark should be over there."

"Okay… sounds good." Ron concurred. "But how do we 'tell a tiger' in this case? We're looking at a whole lot of scrap iron here, after all. How do we know when we've found the one tank we're looking for?"

"Simple." Kim stated confidently, bringing up a photograph on the Kimmunicator and showing it to Ron. "The tiger tank had vertical armor in front… see. We just look for something with a front end that looks like a set of steps."

"Ah, gotcha! Looks like its time for the Ronster to _step up,_ then." Ron commented, milking as much humor from the attempted pun as he possibly could.

"Yeah, something like that." Kim replied, rising to her feet and rolling her eyes slightly. "You and your unique sense of humor." She added under her breath.

"Yeah… Too bad they haven't found a cure for it yet, though." Ron lamented, eliciting a hearty laugh from Kim as the pair set off once again across the sun-scorched earth.

* * *

By the time they reached the ridge, both teens were sweating like a pair of dogs in a Chinese restaurant. To say the heat was intense that day was like saying Camille Leon had a slight cash-flow problem. The adjective was simply insufficient for conveying the sheer magnitude of the circumstances.

Fortunately, they had been able to locate all of their objectives so far. The Tiger, as they had found it, had been down in the valley, surrounded by several of the older Panther Tanks. From the looks of things, it had taken a direct hit in the right side of its turret, and its ammunition stores had been ignited. The resulting explosion had been truly catastrophic, blowing the turret clean off the hull and flipping it upside-down onto the desert floor beside the wreckage.

Neither one of them had dared investigate the machine's interior, fearing that the remains of the four-man crew were likely still inside. Instead, they had pressed on, leaving the rusting relic behind them. Kim took notice as Ron winced slightly when they walked around the vehicle's far side. Through the dust and rust that now coated the machine's thick, steel hide, the faded black-and-white silhouette of an Iron Cross was still faintly visible. To her credit, she said nothing, choosing instead to leave her boyfriend alone with his thoughts at that moment. If he wanted to talk about it later, then he would, she figured, but there was no sense in pressing the issue just then. There were just some things that a person of his background simply couldn't help but have a reaction to.

Eventually, after nearly another hour of walking, they arrived at the spot where they now stood, about ten yards below the top of the ridge and resting in the shadow of a large boulder. Breathing heavily, they both took long pulls from their respective canteens and contemplated their next move.

"So what do you think this clue will look like?" Ron asked, leaning back against the large rock with an exhausted sigh.

"Who knows?" Kim admitted, looking around to survey the immediate area. "Carved into a rock? Spray painted graffiti? Spelled out on a _Lite-Brite_ set? Your guess is as good as anybody's."

"So… We're back to the whole 'we'll know it when we see it' thing again?"

"Pretty much." Kim sighed.

"Well, then I guess there's nothing to it but to do it." Ron replied in a somewhat less than enthusiastic tone. Slipping his canteen back into its pouch and shouldering his pack, he began to move forward with Kim. He had taken a grand total of four steps when his stomach lurched, the ground beneath him suddenly giving way. Before he was even fully aware of what was happening, he was laying face down in a sand pile, staring out at the interior of what appeared to be a hidden, subterranean cave.

"On the bright side, it is somewhat cooler down here." He moaned as he slowly shook his head to clear his vision. "Downside: I think I ripped some _really_ important things in my neck."

"_Hurk…_ Uh-huh." Rufus agreed, poking his head out of Ron's pocket and gingerly rubbing the back of his own neck. Having a 140-pound human fall on you can be a rather uncomfortable experience, after all. Especially when you yourself weigh all of eight ounces, soaking wet.

"Ron! Are you okay?" Kim's frantic voice suddenly caller out from above.

"Yeah! I think so!" he called back, not entirely sure of the truth in his words.

"Hold on! I'm coming down!" Kim shouted back. Seconds later, the tell tale whine of a grapple cable un-spooling accompanied the descending form of a lithe redhead, concern written across her entire face.

"You sure you're all right, sweetie?" she asked again, dashing over and wrapping him up in a hug. She had come close to losing him on missions several times in the past, and it had always affected her. But ever since they had become lovers, however, the stakes had been raised, and she now found herself far more concerned with his welfare.

"Yeah, I'm all right." He reassured her, returning the embrace. "I'm gonna be feeling it come morning, to be sure, but I'll be fine."

"Okay… If you're sure…" Kim relented, reluctantly releasing him from her grasp. "So let's get back on track, then."

"KP," Ron suddenly commented. "I really think the writing's on the wall, here."

Kim's surprise at this admission was complete to say the least. In fact, "ferociously mind-numbing" was probably a much better adjective in this sitch. She had never known Ron to just up and quit on a mission like this. Especially not so soon after they had started.

"So not the drama, Ron." Kim scolded. "It's still early in the game: Way too early for anyone here to be conclusion-jumping."

"No, I mean the writing's really on the wall." Ron replied, extending his arm and pointing to a spot directly behind Kim.

The light in the cavern was dim, the interior of the massive space offering no ambient illumination. The only light came in the form of sunlight filtering down through cracks and fissures in the ceiling above them. It wasn't much, but it was just enough for Kim to make out a series of indistinct characters, hand-written on a sheer rock face along the far side of the cavern.

"What the…" she gasped, taking two steps toward the curious feature and stopping to take in the scene. This was something that was most definitely out of place, and both teens realized that its presence here simply _screamed,_ "Clue."

Carefully inching closer to the inscription, Kim slowly closed to a range where she could make out individual characters, and her heart sank at what she saw. Whatever language the message was written in, it certainly wasn't English. The elegant script was beautiful, but to the uneducated eye it appeared as nothing more than a series of squiggly lines set at various right angles to one another. Overall, it looked like the incomprehensible scribblings of the two-year olds she once baby-sat.

And yet, it all looked strangely familiar to her.

Kim had just begun the arduous process of wracking her brain, trying to recall exactly where she had seen this near-alien language before, when she noticed Ron standing right beside her, giggling under his breath.

"Something funny?" she asked in an irritated tone.

"Oh don't worry, Kimbo… It's nothing to do with you." Ron reassured her. "It's just that this guy _really_ knows how to deliver a punch-line."

"Wait… _Rewind!"_ Kim suddenly exclaimed. "You can _read_ this gibberish?"

"Well _duh-huh!_ It's ancient Hebrew, after all!"

Kim suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to set her palm against her forehead at high velocity. _That_ was where she had seen this language before: In the copy of the Torah that sat in the Ron's father's study. She had seen it left open from time to time over the years, and had occasionally taken the opportunity to glance over its pages, admiring the beautiful writing style of this most ancient culture.

It took several moments to recover from the one-two punch of shock and embarrassment, but when she finally managed to regain her composure, her question very nearly presented itself as another "duh" moment.

"Can you read it, then?"

"Sure thing." Ron replied without a hint of irony or sarcasm in his voice. Carefully, he stepped forward and studied the oversized inscriptions.

"_Muhoch lumach hochim…"_ he began.

"Uh… In English, please and thank you."

"What? Oh no… I was just clearing my throat."

"Oh right… of course. Check." Kim sheepishly responded. "Carry on, then."

Ron carefully eyed the message and began to translate.

"Two Philistines and a rabbi walk into a bar…"

"About the riddle, Ron!"

"Oh yeah, sorry!" Now it was Ron's turn to act sheepish. He turned his attention back to the mural-sized message and scanned the text for anything that might resemble a clue.

"_In the Valley of the Shields, where peace has reigned..._

_And the mark of Crows is clear and plain..._

_And the earth's great bounty is cause for pain..._

_Yet the "Brotherhood of Man" shines through again."_

"Well you can't argue with that… It's too _stupid!"_ Ron stated aloud with all the sarcasm he could muster.

"Stupid, but with a point." Kim corrected, keying the Kimmunicator as she spoke. It didn't take long for her to call up Wade's smiling image once again.

"We've got the next clue, Wade." She informed, not waiting for the young tech guru's normal greeting. "Can you run a scan for analysis?"

"Is Martin Smarty rich?" wade asked rhetorically as he initiated his system's scanning subroutine. "Just hold the Kimmunicator at arm's length and sweep the beam across the target."

Kim quickly did as instructed, and watched as an iridescent green light played itself across the massive inscription. Moments later, the Kimmunicator resounded with a satisfying beep, indicating that its task had been successfully completed.

"Got it!" Wade informed the team. "I'll start the analysis right away."

"Spankin', Wade. Let us know the moment you've got something." Kim replied, ending the transmission and turning her attention once again to her golden-haired partner.

"Nice work, crypto-boy." She cooed, walking sultrily toward him.

"Don't you know it?" He agreed, rubbing his knuckles proudly across his chest. Then his expression quickly turned from one of self-satisfaction to one of confusion.

"Uh, what did I do?" he inquired, his eyes darting about in an almost guilty manner.

"You found the next clue… _doi."_ She replied, putting a hand on his chest and tracing small circles in the fabric of his shirt.

"Yeah… Well, I guess I just sort of _fell_ into it." He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even a blind man could read the signals Kim was sending his way, and the implied message was not lost on him. There was something about him stepping up on missions that would occasionally cause Kim to become somewhat amorous, and this was clearly one of those occasions.

"Ummmm… Maybe we should be getting back to the plane?" he asked as Kim snaked her arms around his shoulders and leaned in close.

"Why?" she purred in response. "It's not going anywhere… and this dark ol' cave has left me needing a dose of Ronshine."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

First of all, mad props and a great big shout-out to LTAOZFAN, who was the first and only person to correctly guess the meaning of the riddle at the end of Chapter One. Great work, dude! When it comes to WWII, you really know your stuff.

_Operation Torch:_ The first major joint-offensive to be conducted by the allies following America's entry into the war, Operation Torch can trace its roots back to September of 1940 when the Italy launched the first Axis offensive on the continent against British colonial forces in the regions of Somalia and Ethiopia. The ultimate goal of these operations was to capture all of North Africa and the Suez Canal. When coupled with the European campaign, this would allow the Axis to effectively surround and control the entire Mediterranean Sea.

Starting in January of 1941, the vaunted German Afrika Korps arrived in Libya and proceeded to drive east toward Egypt, (then a British territory), and the Suez beyond. After several early successes, the German advance was stopped cold in July of 1942 at the battle of El Alimein, when British Eighth Army forces under the command of Field Marshal Bernard Law Montgomery inflicted a punishing defeat on the armored forces of German Fieldmarshal Erwin Johannes Rommel.

Later that year, on November 8th to be precise, American forces launched an amphibious invasion of French Algeria. The general idea was for the Americans to push eastward while the British pushed westward. The resulting "pincher maneuver" would leave Rommel as the meat in a Nazi sandwich, and the Germans would be forced to withdraw to Sicily, unable to defend their positions on two simultaneous fronts.

Things didn't go as planned for the Allies at first. Inexperienced in the ways of combat, and facing off against battle-hardened German veterans, the Americans were handed early defeats at the battles of Faid Pass on January 14th, Kasserine Pass five days later, and Sidi Bou Zid on Valentines Day. Meanwhile, British forces were forced to halt their own advance at Tripoli to await the arrival of reinforcements.

Momentum finally began to swing toward the Allies' favor on March 6th, when the Americans replaced Major-General Lloyd Fredendall with Major-General George Smith Patton Jr. Patton quickly proved unpopular with his men, developing a reputation for strict rules and harsh discipline. However, no one could deny that his policies whipped the American troops into shape and bolstered their sagging morale. When the German 15th Panzer Division attacked the American Positions at El Katar later that month, their armored columns and infantry units were decimated. Meanwhile, the British resumed their own advance, and after being squeezed into a progressively smaller region of Tunisia, the remaining German forces on the continent finally withdrew across the Mediterranean Sea to Sicily in mid-May. The war in North Africa was over.

_German Battle Tanks:_ If there's one thing you can say about German tanks during World War Two, it's that they had some pretty cool names. Throughout most of the North African campaign the primary German tank was the Panzer V: Better known as the "Panther Tank." By early 1943, however, a new model was beginning to appear within the ranks of German armor.

The Panzer VI, or "Tiger Tank," represented a vast improvement over the Panther. With thicker armor and a larger gun, it quickly proved far superior to Allied tanks such as the British Matilda and Crusader Tanks, and the American M-3 Grant and M-4 Sherman Tanks. Fortunately for the Allies, the Tiger could not be produced in sufficient numbers to have any appreciable impact on the overall outcome of the war.

A full, albeit brief, breakdown of German armor is as follows:

_Panzer I:_ Designed only as a training vehicle, this tank did not even carry a gun.

_Panzer II:_ Small and light with armor only 14.5 millimeters thick, this vehicle mounted only a 7.92-millimeter machine gun and a 20-millimeter main armament.

_LT-35:_ An upgraded version of the Panzer II, this tank enjoyed 30-millimeter armor plating and a 37-millimeter main gun.

_Panzer III:_ Another armor and armament upgrade, this time to 50-millimeter frontal armor and a 75-millimeter gun.

_Panzer IV:_ Same gun as the Panzer III, but now with frontal armor measuring 80-millimeters thick. Come n' get some!

_Panzer V:_ The "Panther Tank," as it came to be known, was designed as a direct response to the Soviet T-34 battle tank. It possessed an excellent combination of mobility, firepower, and crew protection, and ultimately served as a benchmark for the development of post-war armored vehicles. While still mounting a 75-millimeter main armament, the Panther's gun was of a longer-barreled variety than it's counterparts, and it enjoyed a marked increase in both effective range and penetrating power.

_Panzer VI:_ Better known as the "Tiger Tank," this is perhaps the most famous German tank of the entire war. Protected by frontal armor six-inches thick, and packing an 88-millimeter gun, the Tiger easily outclassed any vehicle the Allies could throw at it. Its only drawback was its drive train, which suffered from an underpowered 750-horsepower Daimler-Benz gasoline engine and a transmission linkage that was prone to failure.

_Panzer VII:_ Often referred to as the "King Tiger Tank," this machine marks the point where the German's seeming obsession with size began to cause problems. Weighing in at 75 tons, the King Tiger carried the same power plant as the Panzer VI, and the previous mobility problems became even more pronounced as a result. While extremely formidable in a defensive position, its effectiveness in an offensive role was limited, only 560 of these machines were ever produced.

_Panzer VIII:_ The ironically named "Mouse Tank" proved to be one of the most colossal engineering flops of the entire war. Tipping the scales at a bone crushing 207-tons, the Mouse was protected by a sloping frontal armor plate over eight-inches thick. For its main armament, it was fitted with a 150-millimeter naval gun, and for added spunk, it carried a 75-millimeter anti-tank cannon, mounted coaxialy. Plagued by the same problems of mobility that afflicted the Tiger and King Tiger before it, (not to mention the fact that it would have collapsed the first bridge it attempted to cross), only two Mice were ever built.

Well it seems that things are starting to get interesting for our intrepid heroes. The search is officially on, and the good Lord only knows what other adventures are in store for them along the way. As a friendly heads-up, I'd like to point out that the story is going to start jumping around a little at this point. With the outline I have so far, there will be a lot going on, so things may get slightly confusing at times. I'll try to keep things as clear and concise as possible, but even I may get turned around bass ackwards at times, so for your own benefit, you may want to take notes.

Also… Try not to be surprised if I don't update for a while following this chapter. For about the past week I've been in the process of assembling the components for a new computer, and I'm hoping to bring it online by week's end. However, Murphy's Law being what it is, there will no doubt be start-up glitches and technical difficulties galore when I finally do "flip the switch." Knowing this, it will most likely be several days before I'm able to rejoin the online community once more. Try to stay strong in my absence. _(salutes)_

Whatever the course of my electronic travels, however, the usual rules apply… Read and review at your leisure. Should you become concerned that the story is too long, too complex or utterly pointless, please refer to the first rule of fan-fiction:

It's my story… I can do whatever I damn well want with it! Nyahhh!

In the immortal words of Leslie Nielsen: Good luck… We're all counting on you!

_Nutzkie…_


	3. Falling Down

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- ****Chapter Three -**

Screaming through the thin air of high altitude, a man-made meteor surged forward, piercing the shockwave of trans-sonic speed with the ease of a needle puncturing a party balloon. Soaring high above the clouds and weather fronts that plagued the existence of earth-bound mortals, it cruised almost effortlessly, carrying its two passengers through a tranquil realm of perpetually blue sky, unmolested by the elements of either man or nature.

Yes, Sky Rat was really putting on a show right now, displaying the engineering and aerodynamics that made it one of the best interceptors of the modern era. A technological marvel that tested the outer boundaries of physics, and pushed the science of engineering to its limits.

Inside the protective cocoon of the cockpit, however, the mood was anything but tranquil. The young couple had gotten off the ground from El Katar without a hitch, and were on trajectory to execute a sub-orbital injection when Wade had unexpectedly beeped in. There were some ominous rumblings coming out of Europe, and as usual, Global Justice was unavailable to investigate at the moment.

Kim sometimes wondered just what the multinational crime-fighting organization did with their supposedly multi-billion-dollar budget. Like most other cops, they seemed to never be around when you needed them, and this was something that she found troubling. Perhaps it was the fact that it meant her next few hours would be spent infiltrating yet another lair, instead of sitting comfortably at home, curled up on the sofa, enjoying some "quality time" with Ron. Whatever the reason, however, she was tweaked… and tweaked _hard!_

She sat slumped down in Sky Rat's rear seat, arms crossed grouchily over her chest, stewing in her own disgruntled juices. She was about to start muttering something about "Ronshine deprivation" when an electronic chime broke the silence of the enclosed space and drew her attention to the console in front of her.

Her curiosity now piqued, she quickly went to work. The past several weeks were a time she had spent hard at work, learning the responsibilities of a RIO and getting to know the position forwards and backwards. She had thrown herself into the training with the same gusto and fierce determination that she brought to everything, spending hours on end studying manuals, practicing commands and procedures, and running through drills until she could operate the rear-seat controls of an F-14 while blindfolded. She knew every button, every switch and every display almost instinctively, and she could perform complex tasks and functions with a speed and dexterity that even a battle-hardened ace would find impressive. Ron's skill and ability had proven that he belonged at the controls of this great bird: Now she had proven that she belonged right behind him. As always, they were a team: An unstoppable one-two punch that could accomplish anything it set itself upon.

Moving her slender fingers deftly over the controls, she pulled up a profile of the alert and checked the detail report. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned through the data before her.

"You awake up there, Ron?" she inquired.

"Well I should _hope_ so." Ron responded. "Why? Whadaya got?"

"An approaching bogey is what. Twelve o'clock level and closing." Kim professionally replied.

"Friendly or hostile?"

"Too soon to tell. Might be a scout for our bad guy du jour. Might just be an executive jet of some sort."

"Well I'm not gonna shoot it down if I don't know who it is!"

"Fair 'nuff. He has radar, though."

"Pulse or Doppler?"

"Doppler, it looks like… Why?"

"Never mind and hang on!"

In one swift motion, Ron gunned the throttle and pulled up sharp, pointing Sky Rat's nose straight toward a towering overhead cloudbank. He climbed vertically for several moments, allowing the bleach-white tendrils of the cloud to completely envelop them before gradually easing back on the throttle, allowing the roar of the engines to slightly subside. Slowly, Sky Rat began to decelerate, losing airspeed until the speedometer readout on Kim's console dropped below stall speed. Green eyes went wide as speed fell even further, dropping like a stone until the gauge finally bottomed out at zero miles per hour. At that moment, she fully expected them to start tumbling back to earth, but instead of the gut-churning sensation of an uncontrolled freefall, the only feeling she experienced was one of floating.

It took a moment for her to comprehend what was happening. Ron had found a sweet spot on the throttle where the engines' output was just enough to overcome the force of gravity, but insufficient to provide forward motion. They were in a sense, hovering like a helicopter, 36,000 feet above the European continent, with their heads pointed slightly downward toward the earth below.

She was just about to ask how this maneuver, impressive as it was, could be construed as "evasive," when the sound of approaching engines stole the words from her throat. She didn't dare speak, as if the simple sound of her voice might give away their position. She released a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding when the sound subsided in the distance, and Ron winged the plane over into a dive before resuming their original heading.

"Okay… So would you mind explaining to me the point behind all of that?" She asked, more than a little curious about the nature of the maneuver she had just experienced.

"It's called the 'Cobra,' KP." Ron smugly smiled, keeping his eyes focused forward. "It's a little trick that Soviet pilots came up with a few years ago. They always claimed it could only be done with the MiG-29, but I guess we both know better now, don't we?"

"And just exactly _how_ does that qualify as an evasive maneuver?" Kim pressed.

"Well you see… It's like this, KP." Ron began to explain. "Most modern aircraft use 'Doppler Radar' systems. Now that's something that may sound like it's scary complicated, but it really just means you have radar system that looks for objects in motion, rather than just the objects themselves. That way if you're looking for say… an airplane below you… the radar isn't confused by the ground underneath it. It'll only see the motion of the plane."

"Oh, I get it!" Kim suddenly exclaimed. "By hovering motionless, you can trick the system!"

"Exactly, KP! Think of it as 'poor man's stealth.'"

"Totally spankin'!" Kim cooed from her position behind Ron. "Who knew that my BF could be so devious?"

"Maybe I am and maybe I'm not." Ron replied, turning over his shoulder to flash a mischievous grin in his GF's direction. The exchange had them both laughing out loud within seconds.

"Well then take a heading, Doctor Devious." Kim lightly chuckled, her laughter slowly subsiding. "Let's go vanquish some villains!"

* * *

It was getting close to dusk by the time they made their final approach. The target was a small village in southern Poland that Sky Rat's onboard digital maps labeled as _"Bochnia."_ Wade had sent along a reference file that offered something more in terms of detail, however.

"According to this, the original name of this places was 'Salzberg.'" Kim informed Ron as she looked the file over.

"Salt Mountain?" Ron pondered aloud. He had managed to pick up a little German over the years, mostly by watching old reruns of _Hogan's Heroes_ on late-night TV. "What… Do they make a lot of potato chips here or something?"

"Actually, they mine salt, and they've been doing it for some time." Kim continued. "Bochnia is home to the world's oldest salt mine. They started digging the thing in the year 1248."

"That's a lot of salt." Ron observed, stating the obvious.

"It's also a lot of abandoned tunnels under the city," Kim pointed out.

"Sounds lair-ish."

"That's what I'm thinking."

"So we're infiltrating a salt mine then, eh?" Ron pondered wistfully. "Should I be worried about developing a thyroid condition or anything?"

"Doubtful."

"Well okay then… But if I start coming down with a goiter…"

"You'll be _fine,_ Ron! Now just keep your eyes on the clouds, please and thank-you." Kim chided, hoping against hope that this would be over quickly, and the two of them would be home in time for dinner.

* * *

When you experience it up close, a salt mine is a lot like an ice cavern: just without the "freeze-your-digits-off" cold, as Ron would undoubtedly put it. What little light that may be present is instantaneously reflected and refracted by the crystalline structure of the environment, infusing everything with an other-worldly glow. The surreal iridescence puts ones mind to thoughts of an alien landscape: New and wondrous, and fraught with unknown peril.

For the two teenagers now plumbing this subterranean labyrinth, however, the only description that came to mind was "freaky."

"Man… It's like a ghost world down here." Ron observed.

"Yeah, and you'd better be careful or else you'll _be_ a ghost." Kim warned. "These handrails look so rusty, I think they'd snap like a twig if you put any weight on them."

"Good point. KP." Ron agreed, instinctively moving toward the center of the passageway they were now probing. "It's like Rust City down here. What's up with that, anyway?"

"Salt and steel… Do the math."

"Uh-huh… _Rust!"_ Rufus squeaked from his perch on Ron's shoulder, blowing a raspberry for effect.

"What are you now… a _metallurgist?"_ Ron indignantly asked, turning toward his small, pink traveling companion.

"Where'd you learn a word like that?" Kim suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I heard it on the Knowing Channel."

"You watch the Knowing Channel?"

"_Meh,_ I caught a piece of it while surfing last week."

"Riiiiiiiiiight…"

"Well it's not like I _intentionally_ learned anything!" Ron added defensively as the pair continued walking. "It's just that sometimes you catch a certain scene and… _GAHHHHHHH!"_

Kim didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened, but took a quick glance behind herself anyway. The glance revealed a large opening in what had only a few moments before been a well-corroded drainage grate.

Now, however, it was nothing more than a gaping hole in the floor.

"_Not again!"_ Kim silently lamented, her heart already racing, her mind fearing the worst.

"Ron!" she called out into the pitch-black chasm. "Are you all right? Say something!"

"Something." A weak voice softly rose up from the depths.

"Well, at least your sense of humor wasn't hurt." She sarcastically observed, a wave of relief rushing over her.

"Yeah, the ol' Stoppable funny bone is un-fractured." Ron jokingly agreed. "Fortunately this concrete was here to break my fall."

"Let's hope that's the only thing you broke. Can you climb back up?"

"I'd have to be able to see before I could do that."

"Where's your flashlight?"

"Back on the plane."

"Well that's just the _perfect_ place for it, isn't it?"

"Hey! I wasn't anticipating having to use the thing, okay?"

"When going into an abandoned mine shaft?"

"Ya' know, this convo isn't helping resolve the sitch!"

"You're right. I'll be down in just a second."

She had just started to reach for her grappler when something in the back of her mind began twitching. It was a mysterious sixth sense that she had always seemed to carry with her: A strange little voice that alerted her to when unseen danger was lurking nearby, hiding in the shadows, just out of range…

And at the moment, that voice was positively screaming.

Turning slowly around, her gaze was met by that of a dozen red-clad henchmen, their shock sticks crackling with bolts of blue energy. They were the typical, muscle-bound goons that seemed so common in the villain community, and their expressions seemed anything but friendly.

"Something tells me you guys aren't with the welcoming committee." Kim goaded, assuming a fighting stance.

"You got that right, pompom." One of the goons sneered, leveling his staff at her.

"Figures… And for your information, cheerleading is so last season." Kim quipped in return, preparing herself for the attack that she knew was coming.

She didn't have to wait long, as it turned out. Two of the goons charged in unison, one following directly behind his partner. Kim dropped into a crouch and leapt, executing a handspring of the first attacker's head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Then, redirecting her momentum, she flipped head-over-heels and landed a perfect flying kick to the second goon's jaw, instantly putting him out for the count.

"Two down… Ten to go." She thought to herself, as she slowly backed up, regarding the now regrouping henchmen before her. Her ever watchful gaze caught one of them slipping out to her right in an obvious flanking attempt. Keeping one eye on the main group, she watched him warily through her peripheral vision, waiting for him to make his move.

When he did, she was ready, dropping down into a crouch and executing a leg sweep that sent the hapless man sailing through the salt-laced air, slamming head first into a stack of packing crates at the far side of the room. Another attack then came from in front of her, to which she responded by sidestepping the punch, grabbing her assailant's arm and redirecting his momentum so that he went flailing back in the direction he came, taking down two of his colleagues in the process.

"Six down." Kim inwardly smiled. "This is actually easier that I… _EEEEEE-YAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"_

Searing hot pain surged through every nerve in her body as the business end of a shock stick was pressed firmly against the small of her back. While she had been occupied with the first two attackers, a third had snuck around on her left flank and slipped past her defenses. As she fell to the floor, the last tendrils of consciousness fleeing her mind, her final thought was of the tremendous mistake she had just made.

* * *

From his position several feet below the action, the sounds of battle reached Ron's ears. The crystalline walls and vaulted ceilings of the mine acted like a giant, natural echo chamber, allowing noise to carry clearly over great distance. The series of grunts and moans he heard was like music to his ears, as he knew full well that each one signified another henchman biting the dust.

But when he heard the anguished scream, however, he instantly knew that things had gone terribly wrong. The following silence did nothing to alleviate his anxiety, and slowly he began to realize that it was now all on him. Whatever the situation was, and whoever was behind it, he was now the only thing standing between them and success. He had to find Kim, stop the plot, and get everyone out.

But first, he had to find a way out of this drainage culvert.

In the inky blackness that surrounded him, he could see little to nothing. He tried straining his eyes against the oppressive darkness, but the result was negligible at best. He needed to find another way of plumbing the recesses of the space he was now confined to, but just how exactly: That was the question.

It was at this moment that a stray thought fluttered through his head. A sentiment long forgotten: lost in the jumble of cheat codes, take-out menus, and wrestling moves that continually cluttered his mind. It was something Sensei had said to him during his week at Yamanuchi:

"The true warrior does not fight by sight alone, Stoppable san. He relies on all his senses. In this way, he can detect danger in all forms and directions, and meet all threats in turn. This is the way of the complete warrior: It takes far more than a mere seed to grow a tree, after all. Soil, water and sunlight must all be present for nature to produce forth its bounty, but when such things are provided, even the lowliest acorn can yield the mightiest oak."

It was a pretty good gardening tip, he had to admit, but Sensei's words also had a larger point to them. Although it seemed downright redundant in the darkness that now enveloped him, Ron closed his eyes and focused on listening, rather than seeing. The stillness of the space seemed overpowering at first, but soon, small details of sound began to emerge.

There was the faint dripping of water coming from somewhere to his right, probably falling from the now-destroyed grate that he had plunged through. From his left, a trickle of running water could be heard, and from the same vicinity, he could feel a slight breeze across his face.

It was this sensation that intrigued him most of all. He knew just enough about hydrodynamics to realize that water going into a drain has to flow somewhere, and that flow requires some sort of a passage. He quickly realized that the sense of flowing water and air meant he had located that passage, and if it allowed water a way out, then perhaps it would do the same for him.

Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he began inching his way toward the sound. Slowly, cautiously, advancing with more of a "shuffle" than a "step," he moved forward, holding his hands straight out in front of him to guard against any unseen obstacles. He groped blindly about, searching, straining, trying desperately to find anything familiar. Then, something familiar did suddenly find its way into his hand…

Pain!

Yelping sharply, he grabbed his wrist and began to blow vigorously on his screaming fingers. He didn't yet know what he had struck, but whatever it was, it was hard, and unless he missed his guess, metallic. After several seconds, the soreness in his digits began to subside, and for the first time in what seemed like hours, he chanced to open his eyes.

The first thing he noticed was that the aforementioned organs were no longer completely useless. There was a small mount of light in the immediate vicinity, and with his eyes already dark-adapted, he could actually see a small amount of detail. It appeared that in his blind stumbling, he had left the main chamber and had progressed several yards down a large sewer tunnel. On the wall to his immediate left was the source of his current discomfort: A steel ladder… somewhat rusty, perhaps, but a ladder nonetheless. The light he currently enjoyed was being cast down through the slats of another drainage grate, several feet above him, and as fate would have it, it was exactly where the ladder led as well.

"Booyah!" he softly whispered to himself as he began to climb. "Now we're moving up in the world!"

* * *

Unfocused eyes strained to see, blinking back against the restraints of unconsciousness, struggling for familiar shapes in an unfamiliar environment.

Kim groaned dejectedly as she woke up to what she could only describe as an all-too familiar sitch. In true hero/captive fashion, she was shackled to some large, unidentifiable piece of equipment in a room filled with all manner of high-tech looking devices. It was the standard evil lair in every way imaginable: So much so, that if you looked up the word "cliché" in the dictionary, you'd probably see a picture of the space right beside it.

Taking note of her surroundings, she pondered just how she had gotten herself into this sitch. Well… that really wasn't much of a mystery, she had to admit. Her mistake had been going into a fight without back up. When faced with the henchman strike team, she should have simply turned back around and proceeded down the hole to find Ron. Then, the two of them could have faced the threat together, just as they had always faced every other threat before. Working together as a team, mutually watching each other's backs, they were nearly unbeatable.

But instead of making the smart move in this way, she had let her ego and ambition get the best of her. Her natural Kimmness had bred overconfidence, and now with her current sitch, she was paying the price.

And what an unexpected price it was. Looking around at the large number of henchmen who could be seen milling about, Kim quickly realized that the bad guys in this particular case had really upped the ante. Most of the hired goons carried the traditional shock sticks, but a select few of them strutted through the main room of the lair with sub machine guns slung haughtily from their shoulders, wearing their weapons as a badge of honor before their colleagues.

The sight caused Kim to swallow hard. For as long as she could remember, she had hated guns. The mere sight of one was usually enough to make her sick, and she had always been silently thankful that the villains she fought had never seen it fit to implement them. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to center herself when an all-too familiar voice broke into the forefront of her awareness.

"Well, well, well… Look who's finally awake. Did ya' have a nice little nap there, Princess?" the voice taunted, eliciting a subdued growl from Kim.

"Shego!" Kim hissed, glaring daggers at the familiar form of the green-clad villainess. "I should've guessed you'd pop back up onto the radar sooner or later."

"Oh really? Why, did you miss me?" Shego replied in a mockingly sweet tone.

"Yeah… Just like I miss Bonnie, midterms and having the flu on my birthday." Kim shot back. "So what brings you back to the global-domination business? Get tired of fighting for control of the remote?"

"Actually, the whole award ceremony left somewhat of a bad taste in Doctor D's mouth, believe it or not." Shego replied flatly. "You see, before they'd give him the medal, there were these security procedures and…"

"Dah-aahhhh…" a raspy and equally familiar voice came from just beyond Kim's peripheral vision, drawing the attention of both women. "We agreed never to speak of that again!"

"No, _you_ agreed to never speak of it again, honey." Shego shot back. "I made no such deal. Now as I was saying, Pumpkin… Doctor D. was…"

"I'M NOT LISTENING! I'M NOT LISTENING!" Drakken shouted, clapping his hands over his ears. "OH-OHHHH SAY CAN YOU _SEEEEEE…!"_

"He _really_ doesn't like to talk about that incident." Shego smirked, regarding the ranting form of her something-more-than-just-an-employer.

"Good!" Drakken shouted, allowing his tirade to subside somewhat. "Now then, can we get on with the…"

"That's why I got it on DVD!"

"GAHHHHHH!"

Swiftly, Shego produced a small remote from the ankle holster of her trademark cat suit and brought the large video screen at the far side of the room to life. An instant later, all those in the room were treated to a flickering image of the blue-hued doctor, sitting strapped to a chair and hooked up to what appeared to be some sort of advanced polygraph machine. A voice that was at once anonymous and ominous could be heard coming from off screen, asking questions directed at Drakken.

"_Do you harbor any ambitions of world conquest?"_ the voice flatly asked.

"_No!"_ came Drakken's one word reply.

_BZZZZZT!_ The machine screeched, indicating the presence of an untruth.

"_Okay, so maybe I did, but that's wasn't why I did it!"_ Drakken amended.

_DING!_ The soothing tone of a bell told all in the room that the good doctor was telling the truth.

"_He checks out. Okay sir, you're free to go."_ The anonymous voice informed.

"_Good!"_ Drakken replied. _"Because I've got a hot date tonight."_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_A date…"_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_Dinner with friends…"_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_Dinner alone…"_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_Watching TV alone…"_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_Alright! Alright! I'm gonna sit at home all night and ogle the ladies in the Victoria's Secret catalogue!"_

_BZZZZZT!_

"_Sears catalogue."_

_DING!_

"_Now would you UNHOOK this thing, already? I don't deserve this kind of shabby treatment!"_

BZZZZZT!

The screen went dark as Shego mercifully killed the picture, leaving a room full of snickering henchmen and one enraged villain in its wake.

"Shego…" Drakken growled, his shoulders visibly shaking under his trench coat. "Why must you constantly push my buttons like that?"

""Well since I know where they all are, I just can't help myself." Shego sing-songed, walking up behind to the mad doctor and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Besides," she cooed, "You're just so cute when you get worked up like that."

Kim flinched slightly at the affectionate display. She had known since the graduation incident that the two ne'er-do-wells had hooked up, but there was still something about the whole sitch that screamed "sick and wrong."

All revulsion aside, however, another small part of her had to smile at the two partners in crime. The story of a leader and his-or-her sidekick discovering feelings for each other hit just a little too close to home, after all. The parallels between this weird "evil family," as Drakken had once called it, and her own relationship with Ron were striking to say the least.

This last thought quickly set her mind to other issues, however, as her thoughts were immediately directed back to Ron. She had left him at the bottom of that hole, after all, and had received no knowledge of his condition since. She closed her eyes and said a quick, silent prayer, asking whoever was listening for her Ronnie to be all right.

* * *

Skulking through the shadows, a lone figure moved stealthily through the labyrinth of tunnels and passageways that made up this underground city. Taking great care to avoid giving away his presence, he repeatedly dodged patrols and security cameras, ducking down secondary tunnels and antechambers as needed. At one point, he was even forced to dive headlong into a nearby room, narrowly avoiding detection by a patrol that had surprised him from around a corner.

Laying stone still and barely daring to breathe, he waited until the sound of footsteps had completely receded before he dared move from his hiding place.

Blinking to clear his vision in the dimly lit room, he took note of several stacks of crates that lined the far wall of the space. To the left was a series of cabinets, and in the room's center was a stack of well-worn cardboard boxes. One corner of the room contained several shock sticks, all of them neatly bundled and leaned against the wall. It didn't take long for him to recognize this as a storage room of some sort.

"Hmmm… I wonder if there's anything useful in here?" Ron pondered aloud, rising to his feet and moving to investigate his surroundings. He had been in similar situations enough times to know he needed a plan of some sort: Something creative and unexpected that could give him an edge… Something that the bad guys wouldn't be expecting, and that wouldn't result in great bodily harm to innocent people; especially himself.

The shock sticks could certainly be handy, he surmised, but he'd have to get close enough to use one of them, and that was a tall order when you were likely facing 40-to-one odds. He would need a distraction of some sort to make it work, but that was normally his own department. How in the world could he be his own distraction, and still get the job done? It was a difficult question to say the least.

Rummaging through the cabinets proved disappointing, as the only item even remotely of value that he found was a roll of duct tape. In the past he had heard many people claim that the stuff could be used for just about anything, and he silently hoped that included taking down a doomsday plot.

Turning his attention to the boxes at the center of the room, he soon had a pile of opened, upturned cartons scattered throughout the cluttered space. Most of the confounded things seemed to contain henchman uniforms in sizes that were way too large to fit his skinny frame. A few of the boxes near the bottom of the stack, however, seemed heavier and more solid than the others. It didn't take long for him to dig them out and tear open one of the corrugated paper lids, exposing the contents to full view.

"Alert the media, Rufus!" He smiled, reaching down to pull a dark, fabric-covered item from the now shredded box. "The Ron-man has just had what may very well be an idea!"

* * *

"So, now that we've got a few minutes of down time, why don't you fill us in on the big plan, Doc." Shego remarked, absent-mindedly studying one of the many control consoles the filled the great, domed chamber.

"But Shego," Drakken whined, "I was just about to start my big, suspenseful build-up!"

Shego's only response was a withering glare that caused the blue-hued scientist to shrink back on himself like a mouse caught in the open.

"Alright, _fine!"_ he huffed in resignation. "You're familiar with the electro-conductive properties of salt, are you not?"

"That would be affirmative. I took high school chemistry too, after all."

"Well then, knowing that, you can understand that these caverns are like a giant electrical capacitor."

"I suppose they are, in a strange way, yeah." The evil sidekick replied, not entirely sure where her employer was going with all of this. "But what's _that_ got to do with the price of eggs?"

"Simple, Shego… Capacitors store energy."

"Well that just explains everything, now doesn't it?" Shego indignantly mocked.

"_Narrrrgh!_ These caves are like a massive battery, Alright!" Drakken screamed. "I can use them to siphon and store electricity from the world above!"

"And they'll have to pay to get it back." Shego observed, finally catching on.

"Precisely!" Drakken shouted, practically dancing with glee. "Financial independence, here we come!"

"What? No taking over the world this time?" Kim asked from her position off to the side of things.

"Global domination is an expensive business." Drakken growled, turning back to his machines. "You have no idea what my overhead is like."

"I can imagine." Kim sighed, turning to glance toward Shego. "Why do you work for this guy, anyway?" she asked the green-themed villainess.

"He's the only one who offers dental." Came Shego's flat reply.

Unbeknownst to any of the aforementioned parties, a shadowy figure was at that moment creeping amongst the miscellaneous equipment that cluttered the far side of the room. With the silence and swiftness of a ninja master, he slid himself into position behind an abandoned storage tank and pulled a small object from his pocket.

"Okay Rufus, remember the plan." He whispered to the tiny creature now crouched in his hands. "I'll draw their attention. When that happens, you move in and disable the equipment. Once you've done as much damage as you can, try to free Kim. I'll cover your retreat when you're done."

The tiny mole rat drew himself to attention and snapped a salute before jumping down and scampering off to his ready position. As Ron waited for the moment to initiate his plan, he felt a cold shudder travel down his spine.

From his concealed position in the shadows, he could clearly see the automatic weapons carried by some of the henchmen, and the sight gave him pause. After all, he was rather well acquainted with the workings and capabilities of the MP-5 Navy.

Early in his flight training he had received a week of small-arms instruction. It was important knowledge to have, the Eagles felt, in case a pilot was ever brought down in hostile territory. Being able to fight your way out of a sticky situation was important, after all, when you were surrounded by large numbers of people who didn't exactly have you on their Christmas card lists.

A large portion of this instruction, it had turned out, had been based around the diminutive nine-millimeter automatic he was now facing. He had spent an entire day carrying it, learning its mechanics and operation, and using it in both target practice and simulated live-fire drills. As weapons went it was small, light and lethal, and it commanded the respect of all those who had ever experienced its power first hand.

Checking his watch to make sure that Rufus had made it to his position, Ron took a deep breath and steeled himself for what he was about to do.

"Well, Mad Dog… Any last words?" he quietly asked himself, tightly wringing his hands around the shock stick he carried. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

"Yeah," he answered himself. "I sure wish I had a better idea of what I was doing than _this!"_

Letting loose with a primordial scream, Ron leapt forward from his hiding place and commando-rolled into the open. With a quick spin, he pressed the end of the shock rod firmly into the small of a nearby henchman's back, causing the man to fall with a muffled groan.

Startled by the sudden commotion, a nearby henchman turned toward his companion, only to catch the opposite end of Ron's rod in his gut. He yelped in pain and slumped to the ground, the consciousness having been driven from his mind by the intense blast of energy.

A third henchman now charged into the fray, leveling his shock rod like a medieval lance. Ron spun around, neatly parrying the blow with his own rod and swinging the butt end up to catch the hapless goon squarely between the shoulder blades. The result was a perfect belly flop onto the cold floor that sent the man skidding head first into a nearby wall.

Twirling the shock rod in front of him self like a bo staff, Ron now backed up slowly as four henchmen formed a defensive line in front of him, blue bolts of energy crackling from the ends of their staffs. The two opposing parties sneered at each other as they faced off in the center of the room.

"Well, what are you clown waiting for?" Drakken asked in irritation from his position on a raised platform that apparently served as the nerve center of his operation.

Spurred on by their employer's words, the four men advanced, and unwittingly gave Ron just the window he was looking for. Summoning the most ferocious battle cry he could muster, he charged forward, staff at the ready, making a B-line directly for the gap between the two center-most goons.

Closing the range at break-neck speed, Ron watched as the two henchmen raised their staffs and prepared to strike. He responded by letting loose with a final burst of acceleration and diving forward into a belly slide, squirting neatly between the two adversaries. Thrown off by the sudden shift in Ron's tactics, the goon's staffs passed harmlessly over him and impacted squarely with the chests of their wielders, causing both men to scream and fall.

In a flash, Ron was back on his feet, ready to take on the next wave of attackers.

"Oh _yeah!_ How do you like me now, boys?" he shouted, twirling his staff about. "Looks like the sidekick came to… _GAHHHHHH!"_

Suddenly the room was filled with a staccato chatter. Ron screamed and his body jerked violently as a series of small crimson geysers erupted in rapid succession from his chest. Kim could only watch in stunned horror as his eyes went wide before rolling back in his head. He dropped to his knees, the shock stick clattering uselessly to the floor beside him. Then he slumped to the floor, coming to rest on his left side, a pool of bright red already starting to form around him.

Her senses muted by a cloud that was equal parts shock and disbelief, Kim wasn't even aware of her own anguished screams as she called out to his unmoving form…

"RONNNNNNNNNNN!"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well now, how's that for a cliffie? Is Ron really dead? How could he ever survive something like that? If he really is gone, then what happens in the rest of the story? All I'll say is that I'm not saying nuttin.' You'll just have to wait for Chapter Four to find out. _(Laughs maniacally!)_

_RIO:_ The RIO, (Radar Interception Officer), is a key position in the operation of the Grumman F-14 Tomcat. Seated directly behind the pilot, the Rio functions as the electronic eyes and ears of the plane, monitoring the onboard radar and communication systems and relaying important information to the pilot in front. By maintaining situational awareness in this way, the pilot is left free to concentrate on other duties, such as flying the plane.

_The Cobra:_ A delicate maneuver developed by Soviet Air Force pilots in the 1980s. By using a jet's powerful thrust to hover in mid-air, it was discovered that pilots could confuse NATO operated Doppler radar stations enough to avoid detection. It was claimed by Soviet pilots that only the MiG-29 possessed power sufficient for completing such a maneuver.

The name "Cobra" is derived from the act of sharply raising an aircraft upward into a vertical position: Something that resembles the motion of a venomous cobra preparing to strike.

_MiG-29 Fulcrum:_ First conceived in 1969 as a response to American aircraft such as the McDonnell-Douglas F-15 Eagle and Lockheed F-16 Fighting Falcon, The MiG-29 almost never got off the ground. Plagued by ambiguous and over-reaching design parameters, the program quickly outstripped the abilities of engineers at the Sukhoi Corporation, who were unable to deliver on the requirements of weight, speed, maneuverability and heavy weaponry.

High-ranking officers in the Soviet Air Force soon saw the errors of their ways, however, and the program was split in two, resulting in the creation of both a "heavy fighter" and a "light fighter." The heavy fighter program, known as the _Tyazhyolyy Perspektivnyy Frontovoy Istrebitel,_ (Heavy Advanced Tactical Fighter), was retained by Sukhoi, resulting in the creation of the SU-27 Flanker. The _Lyogkiy Perspektivnyy Frontovoy Istrebitel,_ (Light Advanced Tactical Fighter), was taken over by the Mikoyan Design Bureau, and the result was the MiG-29.

First flown on October 6, 1977, the MiG-29 is a fourth-generation, Mach-two capable air-superiority fighter with air-to-ground nuclear capability. Variants of the Fulcrum are currently in service with the air forces of several different countries, including Russia, Cuba, India, Iraq, Iran and Ukraine.

_Bochnia:_ Located on the Raba River in southern Poland, about 35 kilometers southeast of Krakow, Bochnia boasts a population of approximately 30,000 people. Founded in the early middle ages, the city is first mentioned in administrative church documents dating from the year 1198 A.D.

The discovery of a major vein of rock salt in the year 1248 drew popular interest, and the first organized mining commenced with the granting of mineral rights by the local nobility on February 27, 1253. Mining activity has been more or less continuous ever since, and the result of more that 800 years of digging has been a virtual city beneath the city. Vast networks of tunnels and chambers now honeycomb the ground beneath the ancient streets on multiple levels. Many such chambers have been abandoned over the centuries, while others have been converted to different uses. One such section has been converted to an underground sanitarium, while another chamber was reformed by generations of miners into the world-famous "Salt Church:" An entire chapel, complete with vaulted ceilings and an ornate altar, hand carved and painstakingly sculpted directly from solid rock salt.

_H&K MP-5 Navy:_ Officially labeled as the Maschinenpistole 5, (Machine Pistol, Model Number Five), this weapon is a nine-millimeter sub machine gun that was first developed in 1964 by engineers from the West German manufacturing firm of Heckler & Koch. Building on the success of their G3 rifle, H&K developed a series of smaller caliber weapons, all of which used an adapted version of the G3's firing mechanism. Four weapons from this group were ultimately placed into production, and of those four, the MP-5 has become the most commercially successful.

Renown for its fast cyclical rate, (800 rounds per minute), and for the accuracy provided by its "closed-bolt" design, the MP-5 has become a favorite with military organizations and police forces the world over. Surprisingly however, to spite the weapon's German origins, the German army is one of the few military institutions to never adopt the MP-5 into its arsenal. The _Bundeswehr,_ as the German army is known, instead opted for a version of the Israeli-designed _Uzi,_ built under license in Belgium.

As a side note, the last of my new computer components were delivered this morning, so once the presents are all opened tomorrow, I'll start the arduous task of assembling this beast. Unfortunately this also means that I will most likely be offline for the next few days, and unable to update or reply to reviews during that time. Rest assured, however, that the wheels of creativity are still turning, and that I'll try my best to get one more chapter out before the end of the year.

And so, my fellow stockholders… While I silently skulk back to my hidey-hole and begin the arduous task of writing my way out of this mess, I leave you with the normal rules in place: Read and review to your heart's content… All input is welcome. If you feel the need to flame, then take it somewhere else: This story is strictly a "non-smoking" flight.

In any case, merry Christmas to all, and I'll see you again with the next chapter!

_Nutzkie…_


	4. Can't Keep a Good Sidekick Down

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Four -**

Kim Possible fought against the steel restraints that bound her with the ferocity of a wounded grizzly. Like a red-haired hurricane, she twisted and contorted, pushing every muscle and fiber in her body to its breaking point, trying desperately to break free.

The focus of her Herculean efforts lay on the floor just a few yards away from her, his life draining out onto the cold tile. For as long as she could remember he had always had her back, helping her to excel and pulling her out of danger when the situation became too hot.

And now, to spite being mere feet away, she was unable to do the same for him.

With a strength and intensity borne of sheer desperation, she redoubled her efforts, fighting against her restraints until she was sure her wrists and ankles were bleeding. She arched herself against the chains, grappling for some sort of leverage, and all the while, repeatedly crying out his name. Desperately, she wished for him to move: To move an arm, or a hand… even a simple blink of an eye… anything to indicate that there was still life somewhere inside his shattered body. She wished this with an intensity that bordered on delusion, as if through sheer force of will, she could make it so: That she could heal his wounds and restore the spark of his beautiful soul.

But to spite all of her struggles, irregardless of how hard she fought or how strongly she wished, the dire scene before her did not change. The steel shackles that bound her did not budge, and Ron did not move. She could only hang there, suspended from the wall like a piece of art, and watch as the best thing to ever enter her life slowly bled out before her eyes.

From high above on the control platform, the reaction was somewhat different for two figures staring down at the scene below.

"Well _that_ was unexpected." Shego observed, not quite fully believing what he had just seen.

"No kidding." Drakken responded, equally shocked. "I knew the buffoon had been stepping up lately, but I didn't think 'kamikaze tactics' were part of his repertoire."

"That _what_ were part of his repertoire?"

"Kamikaze, Shego." Drakken replied, eliciting a blank stare from his assistant. "They were suicide pilots during the… You see, they were desperate, and… Spiritually, they thought… Oh it's a _history_ thing, Shego! Never mind!"

Turning with a huff, the mad scientist briskly strode over to one of the more complex looking consoles and cracked a wicked grin.

"And now, without further ado," he stated dramatically, "the world, (or at least most of southern Poland), will bear witness to the genius of Doctor Drakken!"

"And can somebody get a mop while we're at it?" Shego added. "We've got sidekick all over the floor down there."

Raising a flexed finger triumphantly above his head, Drakken brought his hand down like a hammer, mashing a large, red button into the console. Everyone nearby jumped slightly when the doctor shrieked loudly and leapt back from the console, gripping his hand and blowing on the tip of his now smoldering glove.

"Ow, ow, owie ow!" He screamed in a decidedly effeminate tone of voice. "Oh it hurts, the electric-shockieness!"

"Short circuit in the panel, eh?" Shego inquired, strolling casually forward to inspect the equipment. "I told you, this is what happens when you hire non-union electricians."

"For your information, Miss Smarty-Boots, I installed the wiring on this unit myself." Drakken sneered, still clutching his finger.

"Ooooh, _checkmate!"_ Shego mocked in response.

Drakken was just about to launch into another rant when a shower of sparks suddenly burst forth from a nearby panel of circuit breakers.

"Gahhh! Fire! Fire! Get the extinguisher!" Drakken cried, running in circles like a decapitated chicken.

It was at that point that things began to really get out of control.

One by one, consoles lining the perimeter of the platform began to explode in succession, each one spontaneously erupting in a fountain of sparks and cinders in turn. To one side, a bank of transformers overloaded and blew out. To the other, a set of relays tripped, plunging half the lair into darkness.

Sirens wailed and klaxons blared as one device after another went critical. Henchmen ran wildly about, and a thumb-sucking Drakken curled himself into a fetal position at Shego's feet. It seemed as though all Hell was breaking loose around them, and through all the commotion and chaos, the green villainess spotted a small amount of movement below them, near the base of a shattered junction box.

"Doctor D… Check it out!" she shouted above the din. "I think I see our problem!"

Chancing to drag himself to his feet and peer warily over the railing, Drakken quickly caught sight of what his loyal assistant was indicating, and his blood began to boil when he recognized what it was.

"The weasel thing!" he shouted, pointing at the form of a now frantically scurrying mole rat. "Get it, and get it NOW!"

Scampering and weaving through debris that now littered the lair, Rufus dodged blasts of blue electricity and green plasma, desperately seeking out anything that might afford him some cover. He ducked under a section of fallen conduit just as the blast from a shock stick ricocheted off the floor behind him, and broke hard right toward a toppled stack of crates. He paused to catch his breath once the relative safety of the crates had been reached, but the respite didn't last for long. Drakken's goons were now advancing on his position, and they would undoubtedly tear the lair apart in order to find him.

And then, the situation took a turn that absolutely nobody had expected.

One of the henchmen made a fast break toward the spot where Rufus had disappeared, cutting directly across the center of the room, his automatic weapon swinging crazily from his shoulder. One could only assume he was hoping to gain favor as the one who captured the troublesome rodent, but instead of Rufus, the only thing he wound up catching was air.

In the blink of an eye, an unseen hand reached out to grasp his ankle, sending him sailing headlong across the room. His weapon clattered to floor, and was promptly picked up by what most people could only assume was a ghost.

"Hi! Did you guys miss me?" Ron shouted as he sprang to his feet, extending the weapon's retractable stalk and raising it to his shoulder. "Because I'm sure as heck not gonna miss you!"

If the result of Rufus's sabotage had been confusion, then this was absolute pandemonium. Throughout the lair, villains and henchmen alike dove for cover as Ron let loose with a volley that indicated the full seriousness of his intentions. Again and again he pulled the trigger, keeping his fire to short bursts that both saved ammo and improved accuracy. When the weapon finally clicked in submission, he didn't hesitate, grabbing a pouch full of extra magazines from the belt of an unconscious henchman and quickly reloading.

"Rufus! Get Kim!" he shouted, jamming a clip into the receiver and racking the action lever near the weapon's muzzle. "I'll lay cover fire!"

Half an instant later, a pink blur abandoned its hiding place amongst the crates and dashed up the side of a miraculously undamaged console near Kim's position. The tiny creature waved a quick hello before setting to work, randomly pushing buttons while his owner took cover behind a toppled electrical locker and resumed firing.

Ron's intentions were clear, Kim had to admit as she watched the firefight intently. Each burst from his weapon was carefully calculated to sail just over the heads of those who he held in his sights. It was a decidedly non-lethal tactic, but it carried with it the implied threat that the situation could change quickly if anyone was so foolish as to attack his position. All in all, it was ample incentive for all those of an evil persuasion to keep their heads down.

"Okay, so when did the idiot turn into Ronbo?" Shego shouted over the noise of gunshots and ricocheting bullets.

"You're asking _me?"_ Drakken shouted back. "Right now I'm more concerned with what you're going to do about this!"

"ME?!" Shego asked, an expression of total shock clearly evident on her face. "What do you mean, ME?!"

"Well you're my go-to problem solver, after all!"

"Not when there's _bullets_ involved, you moron!" Shego snarled. "You think I wanna be turned into a human strainer? No thank you!"

"But… I thought…"

"Hey! If you want your sorry blue hide pumped full of more holes than five pounds of rotten Swiss cheese, then be my guest! But as for me, I've got a week's vacation coming, and I'm saying it starts right now!"

"Actually, you're supposed to give a month's notice when putting in for…"

The flaring of Shego's plasma silenced any further objections from the good doctor.

"Hurk, _ta-dah!"_ Rufus squeaked as the manacles restraining Kim released with a metallic "click," dropping the teen heroine unceremoniously to the floor. He quickly leapt onto her shoulder as she rose to her feet, massaging her bruised and swollen wrists.

"Head for the door! I've got you covered!" Ron shouted as he shoved another clip into his weapon and re-cocked.

Kim didn't need to be told twice. She turned and bolted toward the nearest exit, one eye glancing back over her shoulder to make sure that Ron was following. With grit and determination etched across his face, Ron stood and fired a long burst, pressing his weapon firmly against his hip. Quickly, but deliberately, he began backing out of the room, raking his weapon back and forth, maintaining a steady stream of fire as he went. With bullets zipping about their heads like a swarm of lead hornets, no one dared challenge him as he took the final few steps out of the room and spun around, raising the gun and smashing the butt of its stalk into a security panel next to the door. The panel erupted in sparks and arcs of electricity, and the massive steel door clanged shut, thoroughly out of commission.

"Oh _man!"_ Ron moaned, slumping back against the polished surface of the door and sliding ungracefully to the floor. "For future reference, I would so _not_ recommend doing that!"

In the blink of an instant, Kim was at his side, tending to his wounds. The GJ field training she had received in first aid was quick to kick in.

"Hold still now, baby. Let me see." She instructed, blinking through tears that now blurred her vision. She pulled a small pair of scissors from her equipment pouch and began to cut the mock-turtleneck from his body.

"You'll do just about anything to get me out of my clothes, won't you?" Ron chuckled, wincing in pain at the stress that the simple action of laughing placed on his chest.

"So not the drama, Ron." Kim insisted, continuing the task at hand. Although she was terrified by what she might find, she knew she simply had to get a good look at his wounds: She needed to know how bad he was.

She ceased all activity, however, when the last threads of Ron's shirt gave way, revealing another layer of fabric underneath. It appeared to be some sort of synthetic fiber, possibly nylon she silently thought, and it concealed some type of padding that appeared similar to the chest protector worn by her father when he umpired for Jim and Tim's little league games.

What intrigued her most of all, however, was the haphazardly crisscrossed pattern of gray tape that covered most of the material. It was a disorganized jumble of adhesive and wrinkles that held in place a series of small, white packets, some of which had been shattered from the force of the bullets that had struck him. From the broken packets came a steady ooze of bright red, viscous fluid.

Leaning in for a closer look, Kim swiped a small amount of the mysterious liquid onto her finger and regarded the substance. Although she couldn't quite place it, it seemed somehow familiar to her, as if she had seen it somewhere before. All doubt as to its origins was removed, however, the moment she licked her finger and spit the noxious substance half way across the hall.

"Diablo sauce?" Kim shrieked, staring in wide-eyed confusion at the prostrate form of her boyfriend. "Ron… What in the heck is going…?"

"T.G.I.K., Kimbo." Ron softly replied, gently patting his chest. "Thank God It's Kevlar."

"A bullet-proof vest?" Kim asked in shock, pouncing onto his chest and groping for a better look at the item that she could only assume had just saved his life. It wasn't but a few moments before she had found a hole in the material, and promptly shoved her finger into the void. When she pulled back, she was holding a well-deformed nine-millimeter slug, part of its copper jacketing still glinting in the faint glow of the security lights that lined the corridor.

"We needed a distraction to get Rufus into position." Ron explained, laboriously propping himself up onto his elbows. "I found this stuff in storage, and just sort of pieced it all together. It was the best plan I could come up with on short notice."

"Letting yourself get _shot?"_ Kim fairly screamed, recalling the nightmarish sight of him going down in a hailstorm of bullets. "That was your big plan?"

"Hey, I took precautions!" He replied defensively, patting the vest once again.

"And what if they had shot you in the _head,_ you big dummy? Did you happen to think of that?"

"Well, no… truthfully." Ron sheepishly admitted. "Dou you think anyone would have noticed if they did?"

"Seriously, Ron!"

"Hey! Are you saying that you'd rather still be back there chained to that… whatever the heck it was!"

"Well, no…"

"Then what's the big, hairy deal? You're all right, Rufus is all right, I'm mostly all right, and the plot is totally busted. Offhand, I'd say that's an all-around win."

"Yeah… true." Kim softly admitted, mentally wresting control of her emotions. Ron was right, she had to admit, for as Shakespeare himself once observed, "All's well that ends well." But still, that didn't mean she had to turn into a freakin' robot over the whole sitch.

Before Ron even knew what had hit him, Kim's arms were around his shoulders, squeezing tightly as she sobbed into the tattered remains of his shirt. He cringed as the sudden constriction sent waves of sharp pain radiating outward from his bruised ribs.

"_Yaahhh!"_ he cried out. "No touchy! Much Owie!"

His words failed to even register with the quivering form that was now draped over him like a blanket, squeezing him like someone trying to get the last few drops of toothpaste out of the tube. The thought that she had come so close to losing him chilled her to the very core. He was her everything, and to live without him was a fate beyond the scope of her imagination.

Reaching up behind him, she grabbed the scruff of hair at the base of his skull and pulled him close. Pressing their cheeks firmly together, she placed her lips just millimeters from his ear and whispered harshly…

"Don't you ever, ever, _ever_ scare me like that again! We clear?"

"As a bell." Ron replied, bringing his arms up around her, noticing that her entire torso was still heaving with heavy, anguished sobs.

And for a long while, they simply stayed that way, drawing strength and comfort from each other, neither one daring to let the other go.

* * *

The cargo ramp of the sleek hover-jet descended, emitting a solitary figure onto the darkened street. Silhouetted against the bright lights of the interior cabin, every move the figure made was accentuated, and every one of them screamed "rage." Stomping up the front walk with fire in her eyes and homicide in her heart, the figure brutishly approached the bright red door that marked the entrance to the large, single-family residence. It was quite incredible how quickly the home had been rebuilt following the failed Lowardian invasion, but such things were far from the fiery redhead's mind right now. Briskly, she produced a key and entered, slamming the door forcefully behind her.

"Hey there, Kimmie-cub. How was the mission?" Doctor James Possible inquired upon noticing that his only female progeny had returned.

His smiling face fell, however, when his daughter's only response was silence and a raised hand.

"That bad, huh?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"_Please_ tell me that we have a box of animal cookies somewhere in this house." Kim growled, her shoulders rising and falling with seething rage.

"Yikes! _That_ bad!" James observed as his wife moved quickly to the cupboard. Anytime that his little Kimmie-cub asked for her favorite comfort food, he knew it had to have been a truly disastrous day.

"You want to talk about it, honey?" Anne Possible asked as Kim accepted the offered box and took a seat at the table.

"Not particularly." Kim huffed, stuffing a handful of tiny baked creatures into her mouth.

"Something with the mission?" James asked, pressing the issue. "I thought that Doctor Director was going to assign you a temporary partner."

Kim's shoulders visibly tensed at the mention of the word "partner," letting both parents know full well what the root of the problem was.

"Oh no… Not _him."_ Anne moaned.

"Yeah mom… _Him!"_ Kim growled. "Agent Will Freakin' "I-Don't-Work-With-Amateurs" Du! _Gawd,_ I _so_ just wanna stick my fist through a wall right now!"

"Well try to restrain yourself, honey." James stated. "We only finished the plastering on Tuesday."

"Don't worry, daddy… I'll control myself." Kim assured her father, heaving a heavy sigh. "Is Ron here? I saw the scooter out front when I came in."

"He's upstairs with your brothers, I think." Anne informed. "Something about beta testing a new video game that Wade sent over."

"Good." Was Kim's one-word reply as she got up from her place at the table and walked to the doorway leading to the living room.

"RONALD EUGENE STOPPABLE… FRONT AND CENTER!" she bellowed at the top of her lungs, causing both of her parents to nearly jump out of their respective skins.

Moments later there came a loud clattering on the stairs, followed promptly by the appearance of a tow-headed boy with blonde hair and freckles.

"You call, KP?" Ron nervously asked.

Instead of answering Ron's question, Kim simply threw her arms around him, diving into his warm embrace. She took a deep breath, allowing his scent to fill her nostrils, and shuddered as she slowly released the air from her lungs. After six hours of dealing with the partner from Hell, this was what she needed: A healthy dose of Ronshine to lift her spirits and let her forget about the trials of the day. As long as she was with her man, she could make it through anything.

"Uh, KP? Are you okay?" Ron inquired, somewhat confused by his girlfriend's sudden behavior.

"I am now." Kim sighed, melting into his embrace. This was _so_ definitely what the doctor ordered.

Taking a moment to reflect on the day's events, she silently consoled herself, telling herself that Ron would only be out of commission for a little over a week. He had sustained three cracked ribs as a result of the bullets he had taken in Poland, and although the injuries were nothing serious on their own, her mother assured her that they could become serious if aggravated. She had placed Ron on a strict program of rest and recuperation, with no missions or otherwise strenuous activity for two weeks. He was officially grounded, and that was that.

Privately, she hoped that no missions would come up during that time, but trouble had a strange way of finding her, and her recent run-in with Global Justice's finest was the end result.

"_One more week…"_ she told herself. _"Just seven measly days."_

"So, you wanna sit down or something?" Ron finally asked after nearly a minute of Kim simply breathing heavily into his shoulder.

"Yeah… Sitting is good." She sighed, pulling back slightly, but not releasing him entirely.

Placing a comforting arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, Ron led them both over to the large sectional sofa that dominated the Possible family living room, and quickly found a comfortable spot near one of its over-stuffed arms. It didn't take long for Kim to kick off her shoes and curl up next to him, slipping in under his arm and nestling her head onto his shoulder. She was careful not to squeeze him too tightly, lest she aggravate the injuries he was still nursing, but she still snuggled in as close as she dared go, wrapping herself in his presence as if it was a blanket of pure bliss.

Repositioning his arm around Kim and pulling her a little closer, Ron reached for the remote with his free hand, and after a few minutes of surfing, managed to find a "Hogan's Heroes" marathon on one of the kitschy "classic TV" channels that seemed to dot the landscape of premium cable. It wasn't long before the young couple was laughing and pointing at the characters on the screen, the troubles of the day all but forgotten.

"Oh c'mon!" Ron exclaimed, pointing and rolling his eyes. "You'd think that after about the fourteenth time that Hogan and his friends foiled their plans, Kilnk and Schultz would figure out that they had bugged the office!"

"Yeah, and you'd think that after about the third episode, they'd figure out that they should be speaking German." Kim observed dryly, shifting slightly to reposition herself under Ron's arm.

"True that." Ron agreed, looking down and smiling warmly at Kim before returning his gaze to the screen. "Oh please… Now their playing volleyball in the compound?" he moaned. "What the heck is this, anyway? Nazi Club-Med?"

Kim couldn't help but smile as she soaked in her surroundings. The scene was simply perfect, after all. Small details that are normally crowded out of one's consciousness by the rigors and bedlam of daily life were now laid bare for her to see: Comfortable and warm in her spot on the sofa, and with her parents sequestered in the kitchen and the Tweebs engrossed in their virtual world upstairs, she could simply relax and let all of the tension in her body melt away. With Ron's arm protectively around her, she was free to revel in the idle banter that seemed to flow so naturally between them, whiling away the hours just talking and laughing, carrying on about nothing in particular. This was the best thing about their relationship, she sometimes thought: That it all came so freely to them, flowing effortlessly from the roots of their lifelong friendship like water from the purest of springs. It was both real and right in some strange, cosmic way, causing both of them to occasionally wonder why they had ever wasted so many years, living in denial of their true feelings.

Even Yori had admitted it, Kim recalled, thinking of the young ninja whom she once and still considered to be her main rival for Ron's affections. She thought of how the lithe Japanese girl had referred to her relationship with Ron as "destiny."

"_Well if that's the case,"_ she silently purred, pressing herself even closer to Ron. _"Then who am I to mess with destiny?"_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

First off… After a week of frustration, I've finally got my new computer up and running. As I sit here typing these final few paragraphs, she sits in front of me, purring like the proverbial kitten.

And this kitty has claws to be sure: Abit IN9 motherboard, Intel Core 2 Quad processor with 2.4 GHz, a 750 GB hard drive and four gigs of DDR2 RAM. Look out virtual world… _Here I come!_

Well after a chapter-and-a-half worth of drama and angst, I thought I'd switch gears and end on a somewhat fluffy note. Hope none of you mind.

I also hope that everyone had a merry Christmas full of joy and wonderment, or at least had the chance to consume copious amounts of bean dip and eggnog. After all, what would the holidays be without a little bit of gluttony thrown in for good measure?

In all likelihood, this will be my last update before New Year's, so I just wanted to share a few thoughts with all of you out there in fanfiction land…

This year was the first year that I truly gave any serious thought to writing fanfiction. I had dabbled within the field previously, producing small, thoroughly forgettable works that were basically unfit for human consumption. Fanfiction was a beast I did not understand, and seemed to have little interest in pursuing.

When I started writing "Shadows of Angels" back in early January, it was more or less on a lark: the result of boredom mixed with a healthy dose of post-holiday depression. In all honesty, I never expected to get past the first two or three chapters of that story, figuring that with my easily distracted mind I'd quickly lose interest and let the thing die a quiet death somewhere in the nether-regions of my computer's hard drive.

But then the reviews started arriving in my mailbox, and for the first time, I truly felt motivated. More chapters soon followed, succeeded then by more stories. Story ideas didn't come easily to me, I soon discovered, but when they did I was usually able to craft them into something marginally acceptable.

The end result of all this is where I sit today, with eight stories and over 150,000 words archived. It's been an interesting journey so far to this point, and one that I never really imagined myself taking. I find it equally difficult to imagine what the next year will bring, but if the past is any indicator, then it will be full of wonderful surprises and amazing twists to be sure.

And so, as 2007 draws to a close, I raise a glass of sparkling cider to you, my loyal readers, and offer my heartfelt gratitude. Thank you so much for coming along on this trip with me, for without your support and encouragement, I doubt I would have ever found the courage to even attempt the things I've done.

As Kim herself continually shows us, after all: Nothing is impossible when you've got good friends backing you up.

Take care, one and all… And I'll see you in 2008!

_Nutzkie…_


	5. Flight of the Falcon

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Five -**

It's a strange thing when someone straps on and steps into battle. The potent mixture of adrenaline, anxiety and uncertain outcome forms an unstable cocktail that affects people in a multitude of different ways. For some, the base instinct of self-preservation proves irresistible, and they immediately flee. For others, the noble qualities of loyalty and service compel them forward, advancing into the sea of carnage before them. Still others freeze when confronted with the human meat grinder of battle, and cease all ability to function, or in many cases, even move. But whatever the case may be, one is always affected. No matter how many times one enters the maelstrom, the sensations of uncertainty and fear are always there, like a part of one's self, always close at hand.

Such was the case for Lieutenant Commander Ron Stoppable as he streaked through the upper troposphere at trans-sonic speed. The anxiety he felt was almost palpable, creating a bitter taste in his mouth, and the unfamiliar surroundings certainly weren't helping matters any.

It had been slightly more than a week now since Kim's mother had medically cleared him to return to duty, and as it turned out, this was just in time for him to have his wings clipped: His beloved Sky Rat being yanked right out from under him.

It had come as a tremendous surprise when Doctor Director herself had called to inform him that his plane was being taken off the line to receive a major overhaul. He had been disappointed to say the least, but his shaken morale had been buoyed somewhat when the eye patch-clad crime-fighting czar had informed him just what G.J. and the Eagles planed to do to the machine he affectionately referred to as "his bird."

Starting at nose, Sky Rat was scheduled to receive a major radar upgrade, with an all-new electro-optical sensor suite housed in a cylindrical casing just below. This densely packed canister of electronics would provide long-range visual assistance, night vision, and with the addition of a multi-directional rotating head, a targeting laser for deploying precision-guided munitions. All in all, it replaced most functions of the older, bulkier LANTIRN pod, and did so in a much sleeker and aerodynamic package.

Behind these upgrades, the M-61 Vulcan cannon was to be removed and replaced with a pair of GAU-22, 25-millimeter Gattling guns mounted in either side of the fuselage. More powerful and more accurate that the 20-millimeter Vulcan, these would give Sky Rat considerably more bite at close range, and had the added coolness of causing the plane to spit braids of fire from both corners of its "shark's mouth" insignia when the trigger was pulled.

Inside the cockpit, older display panels were giving way to sophisticated touch screens, and the "fly-by-wire" control systems were being gutted in favor of lighter and more durable "fly-by light" technology. There would be the addition of a helmet-mounted display to supplement the older heads-up display, and throughout the airframe, older computer systems were being replaced by newer, faster, lighter components.

Farther back, aluminum body panels were being replaced by lightweight ceramic armor, backed with Kevlar to increase strength. At the tail end, vectored thrust was to be a new feature, along with an exhaust cooling system to reduce Sky Rat's infrared signature.

By the time the G.J. engineers were done with his bird, Doctor Director had assured him, Sky Rat would stand alone as an entirely new model of aircraft: The world's only F-14/E Super Tomcat!

All techno-wonderment aside, however, the end result was still that he was without wings for the foreseeable future, and would be forced to make do with loaner aircraft.

And this was how he came to the position he now found himself in: Strapped into the cockpit of a Block-40 F-16 Fighting Falcon, streaking through the sky, 30,000 feet above the mountains of southwestern Syria.

The Falcon was a sweet ride, he had to admit, being incredibly quick and devilishly maneuverable. It carried with it the ability to hit hard and get away fast, but for someone not used to the cockpit layout, it took some getting used to. The control stick arrangement provided the most trouble, he had discovered, with the familiar floor-mounted yoke of the F-14 being replaced by a joystick-style controller set to his right side. In this configuration, even the slightest twitch of your hand was interpreted as a control input by the onboard computers, and the resulting flight path was erratic at best.

To complicate matters even further, the simple aspect of how you sat in this bird was radically different as well. This version of the Falcon was equipped with a seat that reclined back at a 45-degree angle. The intent was to relieve some of the stress involved with pulling high-G turns, but for someone more used to a conventional cockpit arrangement, it was simply one more cause for aggravation.

But the biggest difference, however, was the most obvious one: He was alone. Kim, sadly, had been called in to work overtime with Monique at Club Banana that afternoon. Not that it really mattered, Ron told himself, because the F-16 was a single-seat fighter anyway. For this mission, he would be flying solo, and it was something that bothered him to no end.

Attempting to calm his frayed nerves, Ron tried to focus on the current mission du jour. According to the pre-flight briefing, a regional warlord was growing discontented with his sphere of influence. In recent months, he had taken to referring to himself as "The Black Sheik," and had started making somewhat less-than-neighborly gestures toward nearby municipalities.

But now, as the most recent intel reports clearly stated, the Sheik had upped the ante. The aspiring dictator had gathered his private militia and dispatched them southward in a convoy of trucks and light armored vehicles. It was a clearly aggressive move against the neighboring villages, but that wasn't what Global Justice found to be the greatest cause for concern.

The column's apparent target was within virtual spitting distance of the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights, and any military action here could very well spill over the border, causing the whole situation to flare up into a major international incident. Clearly, this was something that could not be tolerated, and the decision had been made persuade this particular convoy that today was most definitely not a good day for a drive through the countryside.

The F-16s that Ron and his squadron were now flying had been loaned to the Eagles by the Israeli Air Force, who was understandably supportive of the plan. It the strike succeeded, then Israel would rid itself of a potential thorn in its side, and any political fallout from the incident would come back on G.J, rather than them. For the Israelis, it was a win-win scenario.

The plan itself was relatively simple. En route to its destination, the column would need to pass through a region of rough terrain. The road it took would cross a ravine on a high bridge, then ascend a mountain ridge that lay just beyond. Following this ascent, the convoy would then descend the far side of the ridge before crossing a similar ravine and continuing on its way. Unfortunately for them, however, the road approaching the summit was steep and crooked: Something that would force the group of vehicles to slow down considerably.

For the Eagles, this was their window of opportunity. As the group of vehicles slowed to a crawl, a flight of eight ships would intercept them, creating a sort of aerial ambush. While half of the force remained above to provide cover, two strike teams of two planes each would descend and hit the bridges with precision-guided munitions, effectively trapping the convoy on the ridge above. Once that was accomplished, a follow-up flight of Panavia Tornados would "gently persuade" these men to abandon their vehicles and take a leisurely walk home.

Ron's job in all of this was to fly lead for one of the two strike teams. He would be tasked with striking the forward bridge, while his wingman watched his back. Both planes carried a pair of 2,000-pound laser-guided bombs for the purpose, so that if by chance Ron's attack proved ineffective, his wingman could execute a follow-up attack and complete the job.

Glancing over his right shoulder, Ron spied his wingman just a few yards away, and flashed a series of hand signs to inquire if everything was in order. The young man responded with a classic "thumbs up" gesture, indicating that they were good to go. Ron smiled, thinking of the quirky co-worker who he had recently befriended.

Sam Nabunston was a bespectacled young man with brown hair and a British accent so thick you could serve it with a spatula. Their paths had crossed briefly during basic flight training, but in that short time they had discovered a common interest in all things sci-fi, and had kept in contact via email ever since. To now be flying into combat side-by-side was quite a coincidence, they both admitted, and a rather pleasant coincidence at that.

"Inbound to target, twenty-one miles down range." Ron spoke casually into his helmet's microphone. "ETA is two minutes. You ready for this, fellas?"

"_Affirmative!"_

"_We have a 'go!'"_

"_Let's kick this pig!"_ a chorus of replies came flooding back.

"Alrighty then!" Ron responded, putting on his patented "serious face." "Stick with me, Sammy. This ride could get a bit bumpy."

"I'll be right behind you, ya' crazy Yank." Sam replied with his distinctive accent in full effect. "Cleaning up the bloody mess when you're done, no doubt."

"Hey! We don't always leave a mess!" Ron shot back defensively at Sam's playful barb. "What about Europe after World War Two? That wasn't our mess, but we rolled up our sleeves and we cleaned that continent up!"

"Yeah, well ya' should've scrubbed France a little harder."

"_Meh…_ Fair 'nuff. You ready for this?"

"Tally ho!"

Banking left and dropping his nose, Ron rolled into his target. A few deft movements of the hat switch on his control yoke, and the crosshairs of the targeting laser were placed squarely in the center of the bridge deck, mid way between two large support columns. According to the brief he'd read, this was the weakest part of the structure, and consequently, the spot where an attack would do the greatest damage.

A quick flick of his thumb and the safety cover protecting the ordinance release switch was open, revealing the large, red button underneath. Bursts of flak began to billow around him as he counted down the seconds, waiting for just the right moment to release his lethal payload.

When the moment came, he didn't hesitate, pressing the fleshy part of his thumb firmly against the hardened plastic. Two distinct "klunks" resounded through the cockpit, and the Falcon lurched upward, confirming that he had just lost 4,000 pounds the easy way. He eased the stick back, slowly pulling up and away from the bridge, all the while keeping the crosshairs centered on the target.

When the video screen to his right was suddenly filled with a billowing cloud of smoke and flying debris, he knew that the bombs had found their mark, and that at least his portion of the mission had been a success. He smiled, thinking about how easy the whole thing had actually been, and keyed his radio.

"Saber five to Saber one, we have a positive impact! Repeat… _Positive impact!"_ he proudly reported to his flight leader high above. The response he received, however, was not at all what he was expecting.

"Look alive, Saber five! You've got a bogey on your six!" the voice of an anonymous pilot called out, causing Ron to jerk his head around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash. Sure enough, he instantly recognized the form of an A-4 Skyhawk, silhouetted against the brightly lit desert sky. Its nose was painted a bright shade of solid yellow, indicating that the pilot was some sort of hotshot, and from his motions it didn't look like this guy was just popping in to say "Hi,"

"Where the heck did he come from?" Ron shouted. "I thought you guys were running interference!"

"Sorry, Mad Dog. He must've slipped in the back door on us."

"Well would you mind closing that door, then? It's getting kind of drafty down here!"

Ron quickly returned his attention to the situation at hand. The Skyhawk was small and highly agile, as he understood it, but it still lacked the raw power of his own F-16. He quickly pitched his nose down and opened the throttle, accelerating through the sound barrier. His hope was that this unexpected guest would chose to break off the chase, rather than give up the advantage of altitude.

These hopes were quickly dashed however, as a glance over his shoulder revealed the Skyhawk to still be in hot pursuit, falling behind as Ron's more powerful engine opened the range, but not giving up the chase just yet. Ron dismayed slightly, as he soon found himself running out of altitude. He juked to the right and pulled up slightly, diving into the rocky confines of a nearby canyon. If he could use the rugged terrain as cover, he reasoned, he just might be able to frustrate this tailgater into giving up.

What quickly ensued was a 600 mile-per-hour game of cat and mouse, played out directly on, and sometimes below, the deck. The two craft roared down canyons and ravines, twisting left and right, pulling up sharp to clear peaks and ridges, then rolling inverted as they dove once again into the craggy confines of the rippled earth.

As Ron had hoped, the rugged contours of the landscape were indeed providing enough cover to keep his adversary from gaining a clear shot, but even at best this was only a delaying tactic. The tight turns and steep climbs favored the more maneuverable Skyhawk, and made controlling the F-16 a harrowing experience. He needed the open space of altitude, where the Falcon's superior acceleration and climbing ability could be brought into play, but this presented a problem. While he could certainly out-climb the Skyhawk, pulling upward in this sitch would leave him vulnerable. For a brief period, probably no more than a few seconds, he would be exposed and within range of a missile shot…

And given his adversary's obvious abilities, the guy didn't seem like one to let such a golden opportunity slip past him.

Ron was in a catch-22 and he knew it. He couldn't stay down low forever, and he couldn't risk taking the high road. He was at a total loss for what to do, when a familiar voice suddenly called out to him like a bolt from the blue.

"Pull up already, ya' bloke!" a familiar accent with a Warwickshire lilt crackled across the radio.

"Uh, I don't think that's a good idea right now!" was Ron's uncertain reply.

"Well to coin an American phrase, _Just do it!"_

Reacting almost on instinct, Ron gunned his engine to the red line and pulled sharply back, sending the F-16 screaming skyward.

From his position above and behind the developing ruckus, Sam could see the Skyhawk follow Ron's sudden ascent, lifting its own nose heavenward as it strained for a lock. As the two planes soared steadily upward, neither noticed that they were now perfectly silhouetted against a crystal clear sky, within perfect striking range for the F-16 behind them.

Falling into position behind the A-4, Sam cracked a wicked smile. To spite his obvious skill as a pilot, this bozo had committed the cardinal sin of the dogfight: He had lost his situational awareness. The wanker had gone directly after Ron, never even noticing the ever-watchful wingman lurking just a thousand feet above.

And now, with the electronic growl of a thermal lock blaring in his earpiece, he resolved that it was a mistake this hot-dogger would pay dearly for.

With a simple squeeze of the trigger, one of the two Python missiles that he carried on his wingtips streaked away, trailing a brilliant white plume of smoke in its wake. Three seconds later, it impacted the Skyhawk's rear fuselage, shredding its tail and sending the hapless craft into a cartwheel.

Flipping end over end, it tumbled through a graceful arc, reaching an elegant precipice before starting its final descent to the earth below. Moments later, the familiar form of a parachute could be seen, just before both plane and pilot disappeared into a dust cloud that obscured the desert floor. Sam's smile only broadened at the sight… It was his first kill.

"Booyah! Way to be, Sammy!" Ron shouted enthusiastically as he leveled out and turned back toward his comrade in arms.

"Man! I _nailed_ that bloody tosser!" Sam responded. "Somebody tell that bloke to come back when he can hang with the big lads, alright?"

"And speaking of hanging with the big boys," Ron broke in, "looks like our boys could use an assist up there." He pointed upward to emphasize the point.

"Oh, right then." Sam agreed, squinting slightly through his glasses as he glanced skyward. "Off we go."

The two pilots advanced their throttles and pushed their respective crafts skyward. From the looks of things, the A-4 they had encountered had been only one member of a much larger group, and the remainder of that group was now locked in mortal combat with the rest of their own squadron.

The ordinarily peaceful skies above southwestern Syria had now been transformed into a twisting, turning, gut-churning, afterburning, roiling furball. The pale blue sky was criss-crossed with a spider's web of con trails and missile streaks. Tracers and flak bursts punctuated the scene, and flaming pieces of aircraft debris plummeted downward from the spiraling chaos above. It was a scene worthy of any big-budget action movie, and both Ron and Sam now found themselves thundering headlong into the thick of it all.

Screaming into the fight, both ships leveled off and turned in unison, falling into position behind an A-4 that had become separated from its comrades. Spotting the trouble behind him, the Skyhawk's pilot turned hard left, compelling Ron and his wingman to do the same. Using their superior thrust, the two of them quickly closed the range, but Ron soon found himself stymied. He was too far to the inside of the Skyhawk's turn for a shooting solution, and bouncing outside would cost him his ability to hold the turn. Thinking fast, he quickly keyed his microphone once again.

"You got a line on him, Sammy?"

"That's affirmative!"

"Then take 'em out!"

Half a moment later, the Vulcan cannon in Sam's starboard wing-root roared to life, unloading 20-millimeter armor piercing shells to the tune of 6,000 rounds per minute. The burst chewed into the Skyhawk's tail, ripping the rudder free from its hinges. A few seconds later, the pilot punched out, leaving his stricken craft to become one with the desert landscape below.

"That's two for you then, is it?" Ron observed as the two planes reversed their turns back to the right and began to climb once again.

"Quite right, that would be!" Sam proudly replied. "But don't be counting my chickens just yet. I think number three just entered the building."

"Negative, my friend." Ron informed, eyeing the lone A-4 that was now crossing their path, just above them. "This sucker is all mine!"

Breaking into a right-hand ascending turn, Ron felt the force of five Gs wash over him. He winced and strained against the load, watching his target intently as he climbed above the hapless Skyhawk, rolled over, and dove down onto his prey in a manner that was not unlike the predatory bird for which his plane was named.

"_Time to reach out and touch someone."_ He smiled menacingly to himself.

Screaming in from above and behind, Ron fired a burst that clipped the tip of the Skyhawk's left wing. Startled by the sudden attack, the A-4 broke hard right and dove, with Ron in hot pursuit. He rolled his Falcon into a spiraling dive as both craft violently corkscrewed downward, the rugged desert mountains looming ever larger in their windscreens. As his altimeter passed 5,000 feet, he saw the Skyhawk pull up sharply: An action that he quickly mimicked.

For Ron, it was now a familiar sitch. He was back on the deck, maneuvering through the terrain, just as he had been less than a minute before. But now, the tables had turned: He was the hunter, and his will would not be denied.

Moving down the canyon, dodging flak and anti-aircraft fire from the now-marooned convoy below, he closed in on the Skyhawk, priming himself for the kill. Gradually, he throttled back, holding a safe distance away from his target, almost instinctively expecting what would come next.

The Skyhawk's pilot didn't disappoint in this regard, banking left as he passed over one of the many ravines that scarred the landscape. It was a feint, and Ron knew it, having been well-instructed in the tactics of the dogfight. In the blink of an eye, the Skyhawk turned back hard right and dove for the cover of the ravine, presenting Ron with the perfect opening.

Making a slight adjustment to his heading, he squeezed off a burst, aiming for the area where he knew his target would momentarily be. Half a second later, the Skyhawk roared into view, and promptly burst into flames, its right wing shredded by the well-placed shot.

Mortally wounded, the Skyhawk's wing tore away, and the flaming wreck spiraled downward, plowing into a nearby ridge and erupting into a rolling fireball that leapt skyward before flowing down the far side of the ridge as a landslide of fire.

"Booyah _squared!"_ Ron jubilantly shouted. "Scratch one for the Ronster!"

"Alright, but don't let it go to your bloomin' head now." Sam retorted. "We've still got to get our sorry arses home."

By this point, the battle above them had dissipated, the surviving Skyhawks abandoning the fight and bugging out in all directions. A quick survey as the group reformed revealed that they could claim six kills that day while losing none of their own. What was more, both bridges had been knocked out, and the anti-aircraft guns of the convoy had been neutralized. The Tornados were now free to engage the remaining targets unmolested, and eliminate them at their leisure. All things considered, the day had been a complete success.

Rejoining the formation and ascending back to 30,000 feet, Ron's mind had just started drifting to thoughts of home when a distinctive two-tone beep brought him back into focus. There was a video message for him, coming in over the plane's integrated com-link.

Almost without thinking, he reached down and pressed the "acknowledge" button, bringing the small screen to life. When it did, he was quite surprised to see a brilliant pair of emerald green eyes staring back at him.

"Hey sweetie." Kim cooed, her image looking playfully into the reflective surface of his visor.

"Hey yourself." Ron replied, raising his visor to reveal an equally playful expression. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to check in and see how my badical BF was doing."

"No worries here, KP. Your main man has everything under control."

"Glad to hear it." Kim replied, appearing slightly relieved at the news. "Also, I thought you should know, Wade thinks he's figured out the next clue."

"_Hey!_ That _is_ good news!"

"Yeah, so get yourself home A.S.A.P., mister! We've got a mystery to solve, and I've got an eight-thirty appointment for a refill on Ronshine."

"Only if I get a top-off on Kimshine."

"I think that can be arranged." Kim winked seductively, causing Ron's flight path to suddenly lurch erratically.

"Roger that, KP. We're R.T.B. and homeward bound!"

"Just make sure you get here in one piece, okay."

"Roger Wilco on that."

"Oh, and Ron…"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

With that parting remark, the screen went blank, leaving Ron with mental images of an amorous Kim Possible, eagerly awaiting his return to Middleton.

It was all he could do to avoid fire-walling the throttle and leaving the rest of the squadron to eat his con trail.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well, the last two chapters were mainly drama and fluff, so I thought it was time for a little action. Besides, Ron's been bugging me for some more stick time in the cockpit, so who am I to say no.

And before I go any further, I want to send a big thumbs-up and a resounding "thank you" to member Rei Ronin. Rei has been serving as a technical advisor of sorts on this chapter, making sure that I keep all of my techno-ducks in a row. Look for him to possibly make an appearance in a later chapter as well. Thanks again, dude!

_Upgrades:_ I know the list of upgrades I ran through concerning Sky Rat was somewhat of a handful, so I'll try to simplify things here. The radar upgrade will probably involve swapping out the older AN/APG-71 radar and AN/ALR-67 warning receiver for the newer and more efficient AN/APG-77-AN/ALR-94 package. The touch-screen systems would probably be similar to those found in the YF-35 Lightning, and the helmet-mounted display system is currently under development by the United States Air Force. Everybody understand things now? Me neither.

_LANTIRN:_ Low Altitude Navigation and Targeting Infra-Red for Night, (LANTIRN), is a state-of-the-art electronics package that is carried in a detachable pod beneath the wing or fuselage of many military aircraft. Essentially a sophisticated night-vision system, it gives the pilot full visual awareness, even in total darkness.

_Block-40 F-16 Fighting Falcon:_ A variation on the classic Lockheed F-16/C, the Block-40 has been modified with heavier struts and gear for absorbing rough landings, and possesses updated display panels and electronics, including the ability to carry the LANTIRN pod.

_Panavia Tornado:_ A high-speed, low-altitude attack bomber developed jointly by Britain, Germany and Italy during the early 1970s. Featuring such design elements as variable wing geometry and twin turbofan engines that combine for nearly 34,500 pounds of thrust, the Tornado is one of the most capable attack bombers in the air today. Its ability to hit hard and outrun almost any pursuer makes it a force to be reckoned with in any theater of combat.

_Sam Nabunston:_ An original character I came up with for the purpose of this chapter. As Ron's stand-in partner, this character is actually inspired by one of the more active members over at . Big-time kudos to the astute individual that picks out who.

_Douglas A-4 Skyhawk:_ A ground attack aircraft designed and built for the United States Navy, the Skyhawk is a study in the virtues of simplicity. Small and cleanly-built, the A-4 features such design elements as a cruciform tail and delta wings so compact that they did not require folding in the cramped confines of a carrier's hangar deck.

Designed by Douglas's Chief Engineer Ed Heinemann and first flown on June 22, 1954, the Skyhawk quickly developed a reputation for speed and agility. With these characteristics combined with its overall diminutive size, the plane acquired nicknames such as "Scooter," "Tinker Toy Bomber," and "Heinemann's Hot Rod." To spite such disparaging monikers, however, there was no denying the plane's superior handling characteristics, nor the fact that such performance was eerily reminiscent of the fearsome "MiG" series fighters of the Soviet Union.

For this reason, when the navy created its Fighter Weapons School at Miramar Naval Air Station in 1969, A-4 Skyhawks were tapped to play stand-in for the role of Soviet fighters. By allowing pilot trainees to fly against aircraft with similar characteristics to the Russian-built MiGs, it was hoped their skills could become sufficiently honed.

If you've ever watched the movie "Top Gun," then you've seen A-4s in action.

_Python Missile:_ This is an advanced version of the American AIM-9 Sidewinder missile, developed and deployed by the Israeli Air Force, or _Hel HaAvir._ Originally developed under the project code name of _Shafrir,_ the Python 5 is currently considered to be the most capable air-to-air missile in the world. With advanced features such as all-aspect, all-direction (including backward) attack capability, lock-on after launch (LOAL), and beyond visual-range targeting (BVR), the Python sets the gold standard by which all short-range heat-seeking air-to-air missiles are judged.

Well, I guess that just about wraps things up for another chapter. Where will the hunt be taking our heroes when we return? Who knows… But the sky certainly seems to be the limit!

And to fulfill our "shameless-plug" quota for the day, be sure to visit Zaratan's forums and cast your votes for the Third Annual Fannie Awards! Trust me… You'll be glad you did!

Peace out, dudes!

_Nutzkie…_


	6. Home on the Range

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Six -**

Emerald eyes scanned the horizon, searching for an infinitesimally small speck against the vastness of the pale blue prairie sky. The object of her focus was out there somewhere; that much she was sure of. To find it she needed only patience: Patience and vigilance.

Squinting through a pair of high-powered binoculars, she paid no attention to the stray lock of dark auburn hair that whipped lazily across her face in the stiff breeze that buffeted the low ridge where she now stood. Her focus fixed squarely on her search, she mused to herself that the phrase "Big Sky Country" was an appropriate nickname for her home state. The wide-open spaces of the American mid-west made for a horizon that was simply immense. At times, it seemed as though a person could literally become lost in its gargantuan grasp, and given the current circumstances, that was a prospect that seemed all the more plausible.

A low, guttural warble from behind her was the only thing that broke her concentration, lowering the binoculars from her eyes and turning to face her solitary companion.

"Easy thar, Tornado." Jocelyn Possible said, comforting her robotic steed. "We'll be gettin' back just as soon as cousin Kim shows up."

The electronic animal simply brayed its acquiescence as it returned its attention to the tall prairie grass that lay beneath its metallic hooves. Not being a living thing, it had no need to graze. But still, something of its equestrian heritage held true, and its computerized brain was somehow drawn to the curiously thin vegetation.

Returning her own gaze to the task before her, Joss once again pressed the binoculars to her face and resumed her search. Scanning back and forth across the southern sky, she intently watched for anything anomalous in the pale blue sea that lay before her. It seemed a nearly impossible task, but "impossible" was a word that simply wasn't in her vocabulary. Her last name served as ample proof of this fact.

Sweeping the sky from left to right for the umpteenth time that day, she was nearly knocked over by surprise when a faint metallic glint emerged from a band of Stratus clouds that hung low near the distant horizon. Watching the object intently as it approached ever closer, she could soon make out details such as wing profile and load-out. Moments later, her ears were assaulted by a mighty roar as the craft passed directly overhead, seeming to split the sky apart as it went.

"Goll-ly!" Joss enthusiastically shouted as she turned and sprinted toward Tornado, mounting the creature in a single leap. "Don't that set yer' beans to boilin'?"

Without so much as another word, she dug her heels into the creature's steel sides and was off, riding at break-neck pace toward the familiar form of the "Lazy J" ranch in the valley below.

* * *

"You've gotta admit, KP… The whole thing sounds kinda crazy."

"It's a song lyric, Ron. I'm sure he meant it as some sort of metaphor for something."

"Yeah, but I'm just saying that he should at least be making _some_ sense! I mean, c'mon! He's all like… _'I am, I said, to no one there… and no one heard at all, not even the chair…'"_

"I think he's talking about loneliness."

"Well it sounds like he's talking to his furniture."

"Okay, so maybe it's a little ambiguous."

"A _little_ ambiguous? I have no idea _what_ the heck any of that means! I mean… a little whimsy I can handle, but the dude is actually sounding _surprised_ that the chair didn't hear him. Now I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even _I_ know that this isn't exactly unusual. Ya' know, unless the guy's got a really intelligent recliner or something."

"Yeah," Kim agreed, laughing lightly at the thought. "Mister Diamond, your Lay-Z-Boy is holding on line two."

This had been the scene ever since they had left Middleton an hour ago, the conversation drifting randomly from one topic to another with neither of them caring much about how flighty or informal the subject may be. The two of them were simply enjoying each other's company, just as they always had, and undoubtedly always would.

With her mind focused on the voice in front of her, Kim kept one eye on her own display console. With Sky Rat ghosting along on autopilot, she needed to keep track of their location, lest they over-fly their target and wind up God-only-knows where.

"We're coming up on our objective." She informed aloud as the digital GPS map on her screen scrolled to reveal an icon pinpointing their destination for the day. "Better start getting prepped for approach."

"Roger that, KP." Ron replied, sitting up in his ejector seat and leaning forward to disengage the automatic pilot function. With a gentle motion, he eased back on the throttle and lowered Sky Rat's nose until the flight-level indicator displayed a declination of ten degrees. Holding steady in his glide slope, he simply allowed gravity and airspeed to take their course as the Tomcat descended into a low-lying cloudbank.

As the altimeter passed 3,000 feet, he eased back on the stick, bringing the massive interceptor back to level flight, and emerging from the clouds to reveal the full vastness of the Montana prairie spread out before them. The land seemed to go on forever, he thought silently to himself: A sensation that was only compounded by the perspective that his current altitude afforded. It was enough to make any man feel small and insignificant by comparison.

"The landing strip is dead ahead at five nautical miles." Kim informed, pulling up a detail map of the area. "With the wind being what it is, we'll probably want to approach from the northwest."

"You called it." Ron concurred, making the necessary adjustments to their heading. "I'll have us on the ground in five."

* * *

The sheer scale of the Mid-western prairie presents those few hearty souls who reside here with a unique set of challenges. Many homesteads stand isolated, literally miles away from any neighbors. Supplies and support services can be even harder to find, with the nearest town being nearly a day's drive away. In such an environment, typical modes of transportation quickly prove inadequate for covering the vast distances involved, and residents are forced to seek out other alternatives.

Air transport is just such an alternative.

Free from the physical restrictions of ground-based transportation, flight offers the ability to quickly cover vast distances, as well as carrying with it the fringe benefit of being able to survey large tracts of land at a glance. Tasks such as traveling to a distant city, inspecting fences or rounding up cattle had once taken weeks or months to complete. But with the advent of flight, such things could now be done in mere days.

For this reason, many of the sprawling ranches in this portion of the world boasted their own landing strips, and the Lazy J was no exception. The long, black ribbon of asphalt could be seen clearly against the sea of green prairie grass that was even now quickly turning to brown in the heat of summer. Turning into his approach, Ron dropped his landing gear and put out 60 degrees of flap, slowing Sky Rat to a leisurely 130 knots. Dropping low and raising his nose slightly, he set the main gear of the massive fighter down onto the paved surface with all the care and gentle touch of a doting parent laying an infant down in its crib. A moment later, the nose gear kissed the ground with barely a jostle to the occupants inside.

The strip at the Lazy J was well maintained, but short by the standards of a normal military airfield. Having been designed primarily for helicopters and the occasional Cessna or Stearman biplane, its builders simply never took the possibility of someone landing a large, supersonic military aircraft into account. Certain adjustments had to be made.

As soon as he felt his nose gear firmly contact the pavement, Ron reached down and pulled the yellow "drag-chute deploy" handle that was set next to his right knee. The audible "pop" of a small explosive charge could be heard behind them as the chute deployed, suddenly decelerating the plane to a more manageable speed. Once the lion's share of their momentum had been bled off, Ron deftly used their last bit of inertia to gently turn off of the main runway and roll to a stop on the tarmac just outside of a small hangar building. The breeze refreshingly caressed their faces as the protective cover of the canopy lifted, allowing entry to the outside world.

"Well give me a home where the buffalo roam…" Ron poetically recited, removing his helmet and taking in the sight of their surroundings.

"And I'll show you some very messy carpets." Kim completed, taking off her own helmet and vaulting over the side of the cockpit to land in a perfect three-point stance on the asphalt below.

"Ya' know… How you manage to simultaneously be both a smart-aleck and show-off is something that I'll never understand." Ron dryly observed, taking a more conventional route out of the cockpit by descending the folding ladder that had automatically deployed from the side of Sky Rat's fuselage.

"Meh… I'm just multi-talented, I guess." Kim playfully shrugged, unbuckling the harness of her parachute.

"And have I ever mentioned how totally badical it is having a multi-talented girlfriend?" Ron asked, sliding up behind Kim to help her out of the bulky, equipment-laden network of straps and buckles.

"No, but _do_ tell." Kim cooed, suddenly spinning in his arms to capture his lips with a kiss. Her heart nearly skipped a beat when he returned the kiss vigorously, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground ever so slightly. It was a wonderfully spontaneous moment that was just as suddenly cut short by an unexpected intrusion.

"Tarnation! Can't you two at least wait till we're all back at the house before startin' in on that?"

"Hello, Joss." Kim grumbled, reluctantly pulling away from Ron. She looked down at the ground slightly, realizing that the color of her face was probably a couple of shades closer to that of her hair than normal right now.

"Hey there, Joss!" Ron cried out, showing no signs of embarrassment from the position they had just been caught in. "How's my third-favorite Possible gal?"

"Oh, ya'll know how it is. Ah just keep on git'n along." Joss replied with a raised eyebrow. "But what's with the whole 'third-favorite' bit? Ah know cousin Kim's the first, but…"

"Kim's mom is second." Ron promptly replied.

"Aunt Anne beats me out?"

"Have you _tried_ her meatloaf?"

"_Ahhhhh…_ Well, Ah guess Ah can let that slide, then."

"Sorry Joss, but you know how it is." Kim broke in, sliding up beside her boyfriend. "The way to a man's heart is through his stomach."

"Of course, that's also the way to his colon." Ron observed, eliciting a wince from both redheads in his presence.

"Too much info?" he guiltily asked.

"Yeah, too much info." Kim confirmed, rolling her eyes and walking after Joss who was in the process of mounting Tornado.

"C'mon, you two. Pa's got a whole mess of five-alarm chili a' simmerin' up at the house if you're hungry."

"Hey, when am I not?" Ron rhetorically asked, breaking into a sprint at the mere mention of spicy goodness, leaving his girlfriend behind to roll her eyes at the display.

He nearly beat Tornado on foot in the resulting mad dash up to the house.

* * *

"So how does them vittles stack up against yer normal city cuisine, young feller?" a tall, mustached man in a ten gallon hat jovially inquired.

"_(Cough!)_ Well, as the proud inventor of Atomic Diablo Sauce, _(cough-cough),_ I'll give it a passing grade." Ron wheezed through ragged breaths.

"Uh-huh." Kim responded, resting her chin casually on one hand as she watched the profusely sweating form of her boyfriend. "That's the stuff that was banned by the FDA as a level-three biohazard, wasn't it?"

"Stupid Feds." Ron groused, folding his arms defiantly in front of himself. "Always sending in 'The Man' to keep a guy down."

"Well don't worry, Pa." Joss enthusiastically broke in. "Rufus seems to have taken to yer cookin' just fine!"

All eyes turned to the pink form that now lay prostrate in the center of the table, sporting a mounded belly and tendrils of steam that wafted lazily from his tiny mole rat ears.

"_Hink,_ uh-huh!" he squeaked, flashing one claw in a "thumbs-up" sign before belching and dropping back to the table in a chili-induced stupor.

"Huh… Maybe next time I should go a bit easier on the Cayenne pepper." Slim Possible pondered aloud as he began to collect the used bowls from the table. "The little feller looks like he's been roasted over a campfire for about two hours too long."

"Nah, Rufus will be fine, Pa." Joss reassured her father as she began assisting in the table-clearing duties. "With all that he's been through over the years, that little critter's tougher than a razorback durin' rutting season."

"I have no idea what that means, but it sounds really cool." Ron admitted with a shrug, picking up his own utensils and following the others into the kitchen. He failed to notice the slight blush that crossed Joss's face at that moment…

But Kim certainly did.

A nearly inaudible growl escaped her lips as she took careful note of the younger redhead. Ever since the adventure with Drakken's "Silly Hats," and Joss's conclusion that Ron was the true hero of Team Possible, the young girl had taken a genuine liking to him, and Kim found this unnerving to no end. On the surface she realized that there was nothing to worry about. She told herself that it was just a simple, childhood crush, and that her own relation would never try anything so devious as to make a move on her man. Such dastardly behavior was much more up Bonnie's alley than it was Joss's.

But still, for some reason, deep down in her gut, she couldn't help but feel just a little threatened by the younger girl.

Oh, who the heck was she trying to kid, anyway? She felt threatened by practically any person bearing two "X" chromosomes who showed even the slightest interest in her Ron: Zita, Yori, Bonnie during the whole "Homecoming Week" fiasco, they all still brought her defenses onto high-alert status whenever they were in the vicinity. Even now, when many of those relationships were long since dead and buried, these young women still brought out the aggressive side in her.

And then there was Tara.

To spite her sweet, carefree and unassuming nature, thoughts of the former Middleton High cheerleader still set Kim on edge. Perhaps it was because she was the only one to ever reciprocate Ron's feelings, even if he hadn't been aware of it at the time. In any case, however, the platinum blond ranked near the top of Kim's list of individuals who should watch their step around her boyfriend, lest they wind up spending some quality time with her mother at the Middleton Medical Center's I.C.U. ward.

"So where y'all gonna be headed tomorrow?" Slim asked as he started water running in the sink.

"A remote spot about ten miles south of here, Uncle Slim." Kim replied, grabbing a towel and preparing to help with the drying. "It's some sort of outcrop called 'Weatherman Draw.'"

"Ah, yeah… I seem to recall a big to-do in the news about that some time ago." Slim wistfully remembered in his characteristic Montana twang. "Somethin' about there being oil up under thar."

"Yeah, well it's also a major cultural site for several native tribes in this region." Kim informed, handing him a stack of bowls. "And Wade has it pegged as a likely spot for our next clue."

"Well Ah do wish you two the best of luck with that." Slim said, turning to flash a bright smile from beneath his bushy mustache. "Somebody needs to be out thar making sure information like that don't fall into the wrong hands."

"Well it's really no big, uncle Slim." Kim replied dismissively with a wave of her hand. "It's just what Ron and I do."

"And how's all of that going between you two now days?" Slim inquired. "I know you two've been tighter than a pig in a poker since I was just a stable hand myself, but…"

Kim suddenly paused at the question, a fistful of forks held halfway between herself and her uncle. As Slim regarded his niece with curiosity, she glanced toward the window and gazed at the now setting sun, sighing contentedly before answering.

"Maybe it was a little awkwierd at first." She admitted. "What with having spent so many years as 'just friends' and all, but once we both got used to the idea, things just seemed to flow. I mean, we've been tight for so long, and we know each other so well, it's like we just fit together perfectly. I sometimes catch myself wondering why we weren't doing this before."

"Well truth can be a funny thing sometimes, Kimberly." Slim wistfully observed, flashing another smile her direction as he continued his scrubbing. "It likes to hide from us, even when it's right thar under our noses. It's like a snake in the prairie grass: Ya' darn near have to step on the thing before it'll bite cha'."

Kim, who had been gently massaging a plate with her towel, suddenly stopped and stared straight at her father's brother. She had heard about so-called "country wisdom" from time to time, and had always dismissed it as some sort of popular myth, similar to stories of Chihuahuas in microwaves or making a face and having it stick that way. But _this…_ This was evidence of the real deal. With just a few short words, her Uncle Slim had somehow managed to cut right through to the quick of the matter, and had laid her entire relationship bare. She had never before realized that she was related to a clairvoyant.

"That's… that's probably the most profound thing I've ever heard, Uncle Slim." Kim responded.

"Just callin' things the way Ah sees 'em." Slim replied, starting his work on the next dish.

"That's the sort of thing that makes you think, isn't it Ron?" Kim inquired, leaning back and turning to face her boyfriend.

She was surprised to find nothing but an empty kitchen in his stead.

"Uh, where's Ron?" Kim asked turning to her uncle, thoroughly confused.

"Ah reckon he headed up to Joss's room." Slim replied. "She was itchin' all day about wantin' to show him somethin'."

"Oh really?" Kim growled, suddenly dropping her towel and heading for the stairs. "Well then she'd better not be expecting him to do any scratching!"

* * *

"Ah've made a few changes here and thar since you were here last." Joss enthusiastically stated as she led Ron into her room. "Whadaya think?"

Ron took a long look around, taking careful note of the décor. Just as there had been last time, there were images of him on several of the walls: Some in his mission gear, some in street clothes, and one poster-sized photo of him in full dress uniform, leaving him to wonder just where she had gotten her hands such a picture. Intermingled with all of these were pictures of airplanes in various states of combat readiness.

"Interesting choice of theme." Ron observed, taking a hesitant step forward. "Ya know, I never took you for a 'wing-nut.'"

"Well after hearin' about yer new career path," Joss enthused, "Ah reckon Ah sort of picked it up."

"Yeah, well… I guess it pretty much came as a shock to most people." Ron replied.

"So what's it like being a jet jock and all?"

"How do you mean?"

"Ah mean what all does it take to make it up thar?"

"Well, it probably sounds strange to say it, but first off, you've got to be confident to the point of arrogance."

"Really?"

"Yeah, honest. With the way it is, if you're one of a hundred pilots sitting in the ready room, and the C.O. comes in and says that you're all going on a dangerous mission and only one of you will be coming back…"

"Yeah?"

"You've got to be able to look at the other ninety-nine guys in that room and honestly say, 'You poor devils… I'm gonna miss you.'"

"Wow!"

"Yeah… wow is right. But then again, I'm not spending _all_ my time in the air."

"No kiddin'! Why tarnations, I just heard last week about a mission the two of ya'll had in Poland."

"Ah, yes… The 'salt-cavern-caper.' You heard about that?" Ron dryly observed, instinctively reaching up to rub his chest. He had taken four bullets on that particular mission, and while the vest he had been wearing had saved his life that day, it was still a harrowing and painful experience, and one that he most definitely did not want to repeat: Especially after Kim's mother had informed him that one of the slugs had imbedded itself directly over his heart.

"So what's it like getting' shot?" Joss prodded, taking a seat on the side of her bed and inviting Ron to do the same.

"Not pleasant, that's for darn sure." Ron honestly replied, taking the offered seat. "The best I can describe it, it's like getting smacked in the chest with a ball-peen hammer."

"Hurts?"

"Like the dickens."

"Well, ya made it through all right, didn't cha?"

"Yeah, that I did." Ron sighed. "The Stoppable luck holds true once again."

"Thank heaven."

"Believe me… _I did."_

"So what've ya'll got lined up for next school year?"

That question stopped Ron cold. The young redhead had only been trying to make conversation, but had inadvertently stepped on a conversational land mine in the process. This was still a sore subject for the blond, as his girlfriend had by now received a small mountain of acceptance letters, while he had yet to even hear back from any of his chosen schools. The _least_ they could do was send a politely worded rejection letter, he sometimes thought.

"Well… ahhh… It's kind of complicated." He stammered, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. To her credit, Joss noticed his unease and decided to change the subject once again.

"So other than the usual mission stuff, whada ya'll gonna be doin' while you're here?"

"Well for starters, _we_ are going to be getting settled in." a familiar voice suddenly broke in, drawing both Ron's and Joss's attention.

Kim stood in the bedroom doorway, her hands on her hips and a somewhat unpleasant expression on her face.

"Well goll-ly Kim! If ya wanted yer buckaroo back, all ya needed to do was ask." Joss said defensively. Given what she new of her famous cousin's personality quirks, she could make a pretty good guess as to the reason behind the older redhead's current tweak. Truth be told, she somewhat enjoyed messing with people's heads in this way, but fun was fun, and family was family. She decided to cut her cousin some slack, even if for only this once.

"Yer all set, by the way." She informed. "Pa already had me make up the guestroom for ya'll. Down the hall, on yer left… Fresh sheets on the bed and everything."

"Wow! Thanks Joss." Ron remarked, standing up to follow Kim. He had just started for the door when a stray thought suddenly stopped him dead in his tracks. He slowly turned to look warily back at the younger Possible in the room.

"Did you say 'bed?'"

"Uh-huh."

"As in _singular:_ a.k.a. _not plural."_

"Is that a problem?"

"Only if you count me being placed in close proximity to a gravitational anomaly, if you get my drift." Ron exclaimed, his voice suddenly rising two octaves.

"Amp down, Ron." Kim chided, coming up behind him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Uncle Slim only has one guest room, so it's really no big."

"No big? K.P., if your dad finds out that…"

"Ron, we've wound up sharing sleeping arrangements on missions before, haven't we?"

"Well… yeah." He stammered.

"And daddy's always been okay with it?"

"Yeah, but that was back when we were still in our whole 'just friends' stage!" He exclaimed. "Now that we're officially dating, it _really_ changes the whole dynamic, don't you think?"

"Ron, are you going to try anything inappropriate?"

"Wha… whadaya… NO! Of course not!" Ron nearly shouted, sounding totally shocked that his girlfriend would even think to ask such a question. "I'd never do anything like that to you, Kim! You know that!"

"Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?"

"Well… uhhh… I guess… not."

"Spankin'!" she cooed, leaning in to tenderly kiss his cheek. "Now come help me bring our gear up from downstairs, 'kay?"

Ron didn't need to be told twice. Kim was barely out of the room before Ron was hot on her heels.

* * *

Brilliant beams of amber light filtered lazily through lace curtains to dance lightly across the far wall of the room. Stretching their golden tendrils ever further toward the floor, they soon crept their way across the multi-colored quilt that adorned the bed, causing a pair of bright emerald green eyes to softly flutter open, greeting the promise of a new day.

Kim blinked and squinted slightly, allowing her eyes to adjust, but not shifting her position just yet. Truth be told, she was unusually comfortable for having slept in a strange bed…

But then again, maybe comfort on this morning had nothing to do with the bed.

She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly as the pool of warmth at her back told her that all was indeed well with the world. She couldn't explain it, but there was something about sharing a bed with Ron and waking up beside him that just felt right. She had come to realize over time that she always slept better when he was with her, as if his mere presence somehow soothed her subconscious, dispelling fears and worries that even she was unaware she carried.

She tried to lie still as she felt him stir behind her, hoping to steal just a few more minutes of blissful closeness. Such dreams were not to be however, as she sensed him lift his head off the pillow to look at her.

"I know you're awake, babe. Don't play coy with me." Ron whispered into her ear.

She never could put one over on him like that.

"Well can you blame a girl for trying?" Kim asked sympathetically, turning over to face him. "A few more minutes could make all the difference, you know."

"I know… And that's what I'm afraid of." Ron smiled, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Still worried about black holes, huh?"

"Can you blame me?"

"Well aren't I worth the risk?"

Ron paused and looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"Okay… You've got me there." He stated, leaning over to gently kiss her forehead. She returned the favor by looking up to capture his lips with her own. For several seconds the young couple simply savored this tender moment…

Then, it was time for reality to come calling once again.

"Well goll-ly! If ya'll are gonna be doin' that, then at least lock the door, would ya?"

At the sound of Joss's voice, Ron flinched and quickly tried to hide under the covers.

"Morning, Joss." Kim groused, a pronounced blush quickly spreading over her face. "Something you needed?"

"Just wanted to let you know that breakfast is ready downstairs." The younger redhead informed. "Pa's makin' flapjacks, so you'd better come get 'em while they last. Rufus is already a-workin' on his third one."

The mere mention of a country breakfast was more than enough to get Ron's normally lethargic form out of bed.

"Badical!" he cried, vaulting out from under the covers and heading toward the bathroom to freshen up. "The Ron-man is all about the eatin' vittles!"

He stopped abruptly as he passed Joss in the open doorway.

"Uh, that is what you folks say out here, isn't it?" he asked sheepishly. "I'm not quite up on the lingo just yet."

"Uhhhh… It's close enough." Joss answered with a roll of her eyes.

"Badical!" Ron replied, resuming his mad dash for the bathroom and leaving the two redheads to roll their eyes and smirk at one another.

* * *

Rolling grasslands slowly gave way to more rugged terrain as a trio of horseback-mounted individuals slowly made their way toward a distant ridge. Two of the figures led the group, side by side, displaying a grace and comfort in the saddle that went far beyond their admittedly limited years…

And the third brought up the rear, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a Chinese restaurant.

"Whoa! Easy there, horsey!" Ron cried out as a sudden movement of his mount nearly sent him tumbling to the ground. He double-wrapped the reins tightly around his hands and leaned down, hugging the back of the robotic steed as close as humanly possible.

"Aw man… Where's the _steering wheel_ on this thing, anyway?"

"Lemme make sure Ah got this straight, now…" Joss inquired, stealing a glance back toward the hapless blond. "He spends his time plunkin' fifty-million-dollar airplanes down onto pitchin' flattop decks, right?"

"Some of his time, yeah." Kim replied, chancing a look back herself.

"And he still has horse issues?"

"Yeah. Weird, isn't it?"

"Ah reckon that's one way to describe it."

"Well, it may be weird, but… funny thing… it turns out that I like weird." Kim wistfully admitted, taking a longer look back this time, smiling slightly at Ron's valiant attempts to keep pace with them while still remaining upright in his saddle. "Truth be told, without all the weirdness, he just wouldn't be Ron. Seeing him like this is sort of a reminder that he's still the same person I'm in love with, no matter how many hours of stick time he logs."

"Pretty strong words thar, cuz."

"Pretty strong feelings here, Joss."

"To heck with mystical monkey power! Why couldn't I have gotten mystical _horsepower?_ KP! He's giving me that _look_ again!"

Kim could only smile at the frantic voice behind her as the trio pressed onward, their destination looming ever larger on the horizon.

* * *

Afternoon was well on its way to becoming evening by the time the intrepid trio reached their destination for this day, each craning their neck upward in turn to gaze upon the massive monoliths of rock that flanked them to either side. Entering the narrow confines of the canyon here only increased their sense of wonderment as the rugged beauty of the land quickly engulfed them. For individuals who had never seen such a landscape before, it was easy to understand why this patch of earth had been viewed as sacred by literally dozens of native tribes for more than a thousand years.

Occasionally referred to as a "living cathedral," Weatherman Draw was one of the most spiritually significant native sites in the western United States, Wade had briefed them. Frequented over the centuries by groups such as the Crow, Blackfoot, Comanche, Northern Arapaho, Northern Cheyenne and Eastern Shoshone, its sheer cliffs boasted the largest collection of petroglyph drawings to be found anywhere in North America.

And it was amongst this collection of ancient art that the small group hoped to find the object of their search.

Moving slowly through the ever-narrowing confines of the canyon, topography soon forced the team to dismount and continue their advance on foot. Deeper and deeper into the lengthening shadows they probed, ever vigilant in their search for anything amiss… anything that might indicate the presence of a clue.

They poked and prodded their way up the slope, looking for signs of a recent human presence. Things such as footprints, broken branches, discarded refuse and pieces of equipment were tops on their list here…

Maniacal laughter, however, was _not._

At the sudden sound, the trio instinctively sprung into action. Diving into a nearby patch of sagebrush for cover, they slowly peeked above the mass of tangled branches to observe this unexpected newcomer, being ever so careful not to give their own presence away.

There was a small contingent of men assembled at the base of a nearby bluff that they could see, all of who seemed to be gathered around a central figure that remained hidden within the group of uniformed individuals. Although his smaller stature prevented any confirmation of his appearance, his boisterous voice and thick accent left no doubt as to his identity.

"Acht! Vat iz vith zis vord? Zee meaning zis has to me iz none! Myron! Vat did you do vith ze dictionary book?"

"It's in your suitcase, sir. Right between your lederhosen and your copy of 'Bratwurst Monthly.'"

"Vell go fetch it for me zen, vould you please? Oh, and bring zee magazine too. Zere iz a goot article on sausage casings zat I have been vanting to read."

"Dementor." Kim growled menacingly under her breath. "I was wondering when we'd run into him again."

"Gol-ly! Ah'm on a honest-to-goodness real-live mission with ya'll? Spankin!" Joss enthused, much to her cousin's chagrin.

"Easy there, Jocelyn." Kim responded, placing a restraining hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "We brought you along on this trip because you know the lay of the land, but the freak fighting duties still fall to Ron and me. Got it?"

Joss's looked like a puppy that had just been kicked for no apparent reason, her eyes suddenly growing wide with a mixture of shock and disappointment. But the expression didn't last for long, however. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the hurt look was replaced with one of burning intensity. Her green eyes suddenly narrowed as she straightened her back and leaned forward, matching Kim glare for glare.

"With all due respect, cousin Kim," she growled, "Ah've come a long way since we all tangled with Drakken and Shego, and Ah know how to handle myself in a fight. Now if ya'll are gonna be rushing in thar, guns all a' blazin', then Ah'm goin' with ya'll, and thar's nuttin' you can do to stop me!"

Kim fell back slightly, stunned by the sudden rebuke. This was a side of her cousin that she had never seen before, and truth be told, she found it more than a little unnerving. For anyone to get up in her face and tell her off like that, let alone the girl who had been like a younger sister to her while growing up was unheard of. She suddenly sensed that, much like herself and Ron, Joss had grown up unexpectedly in the last few years, and that the social dynamic they shared as children now no longer applied.

In any case, however, she had to admit one thing, and that was that Joss was right: There really wasn't anything she could do to make her cousin stay behind. Much like herself, when the young, fiery redhead smelled a good scrape, there wasn't a force in heaven or earth that could keep her out of it all. Joss was in on this mission, and that was just the way things were.

"Okay then, but you're sticking with me this time." Kim commanded, earning an agreeing nod from Joss. "We'll hit them together when we make our move. Ron… We're going to need a distraction."

"Mmmmmmmm… _Bratwurst."_

"RON!"

"Oh yeah… right! Distraction! Got it!"

"All right, then. Let's move out." Kim commanded, and the team began to sneak stealthily through the underbrush toward their chosen strike points.

* * *

Skulking through the underbrush, Ron pondered his current predicament. He was certainly no stranger to this position, as his role as Kim's sidekick had led him to create more distractions and diversions over the years than he could count. But still, he had to admit, he had never been fully comfortable with this sort of task. Truth be told, he was wishing that he held the advantage of elevation right now.

About 30,000 feet worth of elevation, to be precise.

Ultimately it was all water under the bridge, however, as the sitch was what it was and he was honor-bound to make the best of it all, whatever that may entail.

Using all of the ninja skills his training at Yamanuchi afforded him, he crept silently around the enemy formation until he was directly behind two henchmen who had become separated somewhat from the larger group. They simply stood at ease, their backs to the bushes, seemingly content to watch their employer's latest rant from a distance.

Gently parting the brush to observe his targets, Ron pondered his next move. If he could somehow provoke a fight between these two without becoming involved in it himself, then he would certainly be money ahead in the game, he figured. The question he needed to answer was exactly _how_ he could manage to do this.

Thinking quickly, he came up with several plans, and dismissed them all just as quickly. He was just starting to ruminate on the possibility of using some sort of birdcall when a small, pink form emerged from his pocket, proudly holding of all things, a slingshot.

"Huh… Oh, thanks little buddy!" Ron enthused as he happily grabbed the offered item from Rufus. "I've totally been looking for this!"

Rufus slapped a tiny paw against his forehead and warbled in frustration. Leaping to his owner's shoulder, he wildly gesticulated toward the weapon, then pointed toward the henchmen. The performance was capped off by animatedly flicking the back of his own head.

"Oh-ohhhhhh… Right! I gotcha!" Ron agreed, finally catching on, much to the relief of his pet.

"Well it worked with Arnie Custer." Ron wistfully observed as he picked a small pebble off of the ground and drew dead aim. "Let's see if 'Dead-Eye Stoppable' has still got game."

The henchman on the left visibly flinched as the shot found its mark. Reaching up to rub the back of his head, the man turned to glare menacingly at his companion.

"Watch it there, bub." He growled.

"Huh?" came the confused reply.

The two men then quickly returned to their original state, which Ron naturally took as an open invitation to launch another salvo.

"Hey!" the left-hand henchman barked as another miniscule missile impacted the back of his skull. "What did I just tell you?"

"What the heck are you talkin' about, Heinrich?" the second henchman asked innocently. "I haven't done nuttin!"

"Yeah, I'll bet." Heinrich growled in reply. "You just watch your step, because you're officially on thin ice, comrade."

It took a few moments for silence to once again descend upon the small group.

"_Fire three!"_ Ron silently shouted to himself as he let another volley fly.

"RIGHT! THAT DOES IT!" Heinrich screamed, lunging at his hapless companion.

* * *

"Shtupid dictionary! You are needing to know how to be spelling zee word before you can be zee looking it up!" Dementor fumed. Clearly, English was not a language he was accustomed to. "Now how does zat saying go? Iz it 'I' before zee 'C' except after zee… Oh mein graciousness, vat in zee name of Bismarck's breeches iz going on over _zere?"_

The Teutonic terror suddenly pointed, directing everyone's attention to the scuffle that was now raging just a few yards away. It was a pretty evenly matched fight by the look of things, and rather entertaining at that, but the pint-sized Prussian was nothing if not professional when it came to his chosen career, and such unruly behavior from his subordinates was not to be tolerated.

"Achtung! Be halting vith zis playing zee horse-type behavior zis _instant!"_ he bellowed, eliciting no response from the two struggling men. "All of you men… Get over zere and make vith zee shtopping of them!"

The other henchmen were quick to comply, breaking formation and rushing toward the continuing scuffle. It was just the opening Kim and Joss needed to put their own part of the plan into action.

"Funny… I never took you for the outdoor type." Kim panned as she stepped out from behind a rock not ten feet from where Dementor stood. "You do know that when somebody tells you to 'go take a hike,' it's just a figure of speech, right?"

"Ah! Frauline Possible! I vas suspecting zat you vould be arriving soon und presently, no?" Dementor chuckled. His smile quickly faded to a look of confusion, however, when he saw the figure that stepped out from behind the redheaded heroine.

"Vat's zis? You have been involved vith zee making of zee mini-me, yah?" he asked, scratching his helmet in a perplexed manner.

"Mini-me?" Joss exclaimed, quite put off by Dementor's remark. "Why you gall-darn, flat-faced horny toad! Ah oughta take yer sorry yeller hide out into a prickly pear patch and…"

"Whoa there, Joss!" Kim broke in, seeking to quell the prairie tornado she now saw forming in front of her. "Calm down a sec and we'll take care of this in a more professional, teen-hero sort of way, 'kay?"

"Teen hero nuttin'… Just gimme two prairie dogs, a jar o' honey, and a…"

"Joss! Just chill already!" Kim chided once again before turning her attention back to Dementor. "So Proff… Since we all know how the story goes from here, why don't you just be a good little freak, give up on whatever your nefarious 'scheme du jour' is, and we can wrap this up all nice and neat. What do you say?"

"_Hmph!_ I say _'nein'_ iz vat I am saying." Dementor snorted in contempt. "And just vat makes you think zat I am up to zee no gooding?"

"You… This place… A quest for limitless power… You don't have to be Stephen Hawking to do the math."

"_Heh…_ You are making vith zee goot point, yes?"

"Well, I do try…"

"Vell then, vhy don't you be trying _zis?"_ Dementor suddenly screamed, reaching into his military-style dress coat and quickly producing a blaster pistol.

Kim dove and rolled to her right, avoiding a shot that scorched the ground where she had just been standing. Another blast quickly forced her to scramble back to her left, leaping over a rock to take some semblance of cover. Ron's distraction had certainly worked, she had to admit, but that didn't mean that her job was going to be easy.

Stealing a quick glance to her left, she noted that Joss had taken cover as well. She sighed in relief, thankful that her firebrand cousin appeared to finally be learning that sometimes discretion really is the better part of valor. It was a sign of maturity, and at the very least it meant that she wouldn't need to be dragging the younger woman's tail to safety. With an armed and enraged Professor Dementor on her hands, things were going to difficult enough on their own.

* * *

Ron couldn't help but smile at the scene playing out before him. His slingshot attack had worked like a charm, after all, and the ensuing scuffle had by now drawn a considerable crowd, leaving Dementor virtually alone to face a two-pronged Possible attack. Somehow, he didn't envy the diminutive dictator right now: Not by a long shot.

"Man Rufus," he commented to his beloved pet, "this is almost as good as watching GWA's 'Tuesday Night Terror' on pay-per-view! _Almost."_

"_Hurk… Mehhhhh…"_ Rufus replied, shaking an outstretched paw for effect.

"Oh, c'mon! This is badical!" Ron defensively replied. "I mean, sure, it doesn't have all the theatrical lighting and Hollywood special effects, but the realism factor is totally… _WHOA-HOOOOOO!"_

His sentence was cut short as a hapless henchman came hurling through the air from the direction of the growing ruckus. Like a 200-pound battering ram, the tumbling body struck Ron squarely in the chest and sent both men, (and one naked mole rat), sprawling into the brush.

"Ugh… Did anybody get the license on that truck?" Ron moaned, slowly picking himself up.

It was then that he noticed over a dozen pairs of shaded eyes staring at him menacingly.

"_Ho_ boy. I'm guessing that I'm in for a world of hurt, aren't I?" he nervously asked, his eyes darting erratically about the group.

"You got that right, bucko!" one of the hulking henchmen growled.

"Well then, I just have one thing to say."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"YEEEEEEE-YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" he screamed, turning and breaking into an all-out sprint, the small army of henchmen hot on his heels.

* * *

The blood-curdling scream cut deeply into Kim's ears, compelling her to jerk her head around so quickly that she felt a slight "pop" in her neck. A quick glance to her right revealed that Ron was currently being pursued by the bulk of Dementor's henchmen, which Kim surprisingly found to be a relief. While the circumstances may have seemed serious to most people, Ron wasn't actually "captured" at this point, and if there was anything he excelled at, it was escape and evasion. Even with him facing twelve-to-one odds, Kim would still put her money on Ron any day of the week. Besides, with him keeping the henchmen otherwise occupied, her current target was still alone and vulnerable.

And that just left the little matter of disarming said target.

Abandoning her position behind the rock, she began to move quickly through the brush, using the dense vegetation to conceal her movements as much as was possible. She cringed each and every time a blast tore through the nearby foliage, but she continued to press roughly ahead. She needed to end this quickly, and that meant finding a way to flank Dementor's position. If she could just slip in behind him, she reasoned, then it would be all over.

For a moment she considered enlisting Joss's assistance as a distraction, seeing that Ron was otherwise occupied at the moment, but realized with a quick glance that there was no need to ask such a question. The younger redhead had already started moving on the megalomanical madman's position, closing the range as she went.

Joss had managed to close within twenty feet of the professor when he finally noticed her. In a flash he had spun around, leveling his weapon at the young girl.

"Ah-HA!" he triumphantly bellowed. "You vere thinking zat you could be shneaking up on me un zee unnoticed fashion, no?"

"Actually, Ah was sneaking up on ya'll in a 'noticed' fashion." Joss replied, folding her arms and smiling smugly.

"Eh? Vot's zat supposed to mean?" Dementor inquired, raising a confused eyebrow. "Zee sense zat you are making iz _none…_ Und zis _troubles_ me."

"And for a very good reason." Kim quipped, seizing the opportunity and leaping from her hiding place in the bushes. Dementor spun around once more at the sudden interruption, just in time to have his weapon sent sailing through the air by Kim's well-placed flying kick.

Then, a firmly driven knee to his chest sent him tumbling to the ground.

"_Yeeeeee-_hah!" Joss exclaimed at the sudden turn of events. "Ya'll mess with the Possibles, and ya'll gonna get _burned!"_

The events that happened next seemed to transpire in slow motion.

As Kim looked up from her stricken quarry, she just barely caught sight of Dementor's weapon. Through the corner of her peripheral vision she could make out it's sleek, metallic form, tumbling end over end as it arced gracefully through the air, reaching its apex, then floating back toward the ground like a delicate bird.

In the instant that it touched down, there was a blinding flash of light as the trigger mechanism discharged, sending a blast of energy nearly straight up. The bolt of brilliant white energy streaked upward, suspended in the air for a mere nanosecond before slamming into a rock outcrop near the top of the cliff, several hundred feet above them. There was a cloud of dust and an ominous rumbling. Then, the one thing Kim feared most took place right before her widened eyes.

The collection of large stones gave way, roaring like a freight train as they plunged downward at a near-vertical angle. With no time to react, Kim could only look on in stunned horror as Joss stood as petrified as a statue, her own terrified gaze locked above her as the cluster of stones plummeted straight down on top of her position.

The screams of the two women quickly merged into a singular symphony of terror.

* * *

As Ron was proud to admit on occasion, his mad running away skills had served him well through the years. They had saved his sorry hide from more exploding lairs than he could count, were the primary reason behind him becoming the star of the Middleton High football team, and were some really great cardio to boot.

Be that as it may, however, they were also exhausting to use.

By now he had been leading his pack of pursuers around in circles for what seemed like hours, and while they were certainly beginning to tire, he was very much in the same boat himself. He needed to put some distance between himself and the group so he could slow down and take a breather, or at the very least try calling a "time-out." Who knows… It _might_ work.

He decided to try the former, however, as he lunged forward and dove into the cover of some nearby sagebrush.

"I got him!" one of the henchmen cried as he bore down on the well-winded blond. Ron could only swallow hard and watch as his attacker aimed low, and just like a linebacker coming through the hole, launched himself at Ron's midsection.

For a brief instant, the gray jumpsuit-clad goon was suspended horizontally in the air. Then, in the blink of an eye, he lurched backward and crumpled to the ground like a wet bag of rice, unmoving and unresponsive.

The dry brush that Ron had been hiding in then rustled and shuddered momentarily before collapsing away, revealing the large, rounded boulder that he had inadvertently leapt behind in his rush to get away.

"Wow. Good thing I got a piece of the rock, eh little buddy?" Ron rhetorically asked, glancing downward toward his pocket.

"_Hink… Oh yeah! Rock on!"_ Rufus enthused before retreating back to the safety of the pocket once again.

It was then that a steel-shattering scream drew Ron's attention to the far side of the battlefield.

In an instant, he realized the situation, and his very blood ran cold as he did. Joss was standing directly in the path of a full-blown landslide, and Kim was clearly in no position to help. Time froze in an instant as the scene played out before him: Some sick and twisted movie plot, come terribly and tragically to life before his very eyes.

More than a hundred feet away and separated by nearly a dozen hulking henchmen, he was powerless to affect the situation. He was neutralized, with nothing at all to do but watch as physics and human frailty collided head-on.

Instinctively, compelled by pure reflex, he reached out with a lone hand toward Joss's frozen form and screamed her name.

Suddenly the entire field of battle was bathed in a brilliant flash of bluish-white light. The canyon rocked with the mighty sound of a thunderclap and the rocks above the terrified pre-teen's head suddenly exploded into dust. The very earth seemed to shake as the sound of the blast rolled outward, ricocheting and reverberating off of the canyon's sheer rock walls, bouncing and echoing about before finally dissipating into the clear blue sky above.

For all those present, the reaction was one of stunned silence. It was as if the sky itself had suddenly been split open, and all the furry of heaven had been unleashed upon the world below. Confusion reigned at first, each person searching for the source of this apocalyptic bombardment, a multitude of gazes shifting wildly about. These gazes quickly settled, however, coming to rest upon the form of a quivering young boy, standing waist-deep in sagebrush, one arm extended, faint tendrils of smoke wafting from the charred remains of a leather glove.

With his eyes pinched tightly closed and his shoulders heaving with ragged breaths, Ron was initially oblivious to the wide-eyed stares now being directed his way. His trembling slowly subsided, however, and chocolate brown eyes slowly reopened themselves to the light of day. These same eyes grew to the size of hubcaps, however, when they took note of the smoldering glove that was now held in front of them.

"_Gaaaaaah!_ Owie! Hot, hot, hot!" Ron cried out as he pranced excitedly about, alternately flailing his arm and blowing on his palm.

It was several moments before he noticed the stunned looks on the faces of the henchmen. Once this realization struck, however, he wasted little time in seizing the opportunity. Thinking quickly, he composed himself and took action.

"Alright you crumb-bums! Hands in the air, 'cause this thing is loaded!" he yelled, thrusting an open palm toward the group. "I've got mystical mojo and I ain't afraid to use it!"

Understandably, the men were quick to comply. After what they had just seen, looking at the boy's empty hand was like looking down the barrel of a Howitzer.

Kim's attention, however, was directed elsewhere at the moment. Rising quickly to her feet, she moved carefully to where Joss still stood. The younger redhead was unresponsive, trembling uncontrollably, shaking like a dead leaf in hurricane.

"You OK, Joss?" she asked, eliciting no response.

"C'mon! Snap out of it!" Kim directed, snapping her fingers repeatedly in front of her cousin's face. The younger girl's eyes blinked several times slowly, and the pale look on her face began to subside as more of her normal complexion returned. Slowly, she looked upward to lock eyes with her older cousin.

In an instant, Kim was wrapped up in a bone-crushing hug that stifled her breath as Joss, still shaking, buried her face into Kim's shoulder and began sobbing uncontrollably. Emotional trauma and fear flowed freely from every pore of her body, and it was all Kim could do to simply hold the young girl close and let the process of venting take its course.

Joss's anguished sobs had finally subsided into sniffles by the time that Ron approached the pair, having by now completed the task of subduing and restraining the henchmen. He stared longingly at his hand and flicked his arm outward several times as if dry-firing a weapon of some sort: Each time with no effect.

"_Comes and goes…"_ He sighed forlornly under his breath as he finally gave up on the task. If only he could figure out a way to bottle that stuff, he silently surmised, then he'd be a millionaire by the end of the month.

"_Sooooo…_ Everyone all right over here?" he inquired, casually striding over to the two women.

Kim and Joss simply turned to look their companion for a moment, regarding him with utter amazement. Then, a crimson thunderbolt streaked across the space between them as Joss launched herself at Ron, wrapping him up in a hug that made Kim wince just by watching.

"A Hero… A real… hero." Joss mumbled over and over again into Ron's chest. To his credit, Ron didn't try to squirm away, but his reaction would certainly count as one of confusion and unease.

"_Ahhhh…_ Need… air! Please… and… thank you!" he gasped, pointing frantically down at the human tourniquet that was wrapped around his upper torso.

"Alright, Joss." Kim broke in, reaching over to grab hold of the young girl's shoulder. "Gratitude is good, but let's try not to strangle my boyfriend if at all possible."

"Oh, right… Sorry." Joss sheepishly apologized, reluctantly relinquishing her vice-like grip on Ron. He gasped several gulps of air before directing his attention to the young crime-fighter in their midst.

"You need to be more careful about where you stand there, Joss." He said with an uneasy smile. "When people say that 'you totally rock,' that's not quite what they mean."

"_Heh-heh…_ Yeah, Ah reckon not." Joss admitted, nervously rubbing the back of her neck. "But hey… Thanks fer that thing ya did back thar, whatever it was."

"Ah, yeah… Well, honestly, I'm not quite sure what it was myself, but you're welcome just the same."

Joss could only nod appreciatively as she stared into those espresso-brown eyes, her own gaze filled with an adoration and a hero-worship that went far beyond anything she had ever felt for him before. It was clear that the young girl was totally awestruck with what this young man had just done, what he had done for _her,_ but true to his nature, Ron stood passively by, thoroughly oblivious to the worshipful gaze of his companion.

His other companion, on the other hand, was acutely aware of the developing sitch.

"_Ahem…_ Now that we've gotten all of our various 'thank-yous' and what not out of the way," Kim broke in, "can we please get back to the reason we're here in the first place?"

"Oh yeah, duty calls." Ron observed, quickly turning and jogging over to where Kim stood observing a particularly large rock painting. Joss could only sigh forlornly as she watched him go. If only she were five years older and a tad quicker on the draw than her cousin, then just maybe… She shook her head vigorously and headed over to where Kim and Ron now stood, silently telling herself that no good could ever come from thinking such thoughts.

* * *

"So what are we looking at here, KP?" Ron inquired as the trio stood in the open, observing a large painting on the sheer rock face.

"Clue number three." Kim replied in a business-like tone. "Check it out."

Looking closely, Ron could see an image. Intermingled with stick figures of shields and animals, words could be clearly seen, and it was just as clear that these were of a much more recent vintage than the images that surrounded them.

Reading carefully to pick out individual letters from the surrounding visual clutter, a message slowly began to form…

"_Where chrysanthemum bloom meets rising sun's red..._

_And the Heike and the Genji both fought and bled..._

_And homage is paid to fallen souls..._

And the blessed young sovereign will never grow old."

"Well what in the name of John Wayne's jowls do ya'll reckon that's supposed to mean?" Joss asked incredulously as she took up a position between the two older heroes.

"Not sure," Ron admitted, "but I think it means we're about to put in a call to Wade."

"Good call." Kim confirmed, already reaching for the call button on the small device strapped to her wrist. As was customary, it wasn't an instant before the smiling image of the African-American pre-teen was filling the tiny screen.

"Hey Kim! Find anything yet?" Wade asked, taking a king-sized pull from his ever-present Slurpster.

"Yeah, we did," Kim replied. "And it's cryptic as usual. Doctor DaLive seriously needs to get off this word-game kick and pick up a hobby."

"Or shred his thesaurus." Ron added.

"So, then it's the usual 'scan and save' drill?" Wade inquired, his fingers poised over his keyboards.

"Please and thank-you." Kim cheerfully replied, extending her arm to point the Kimmunicator toward the mural. As usual, it only took a few moments for the neon beam to play itself out over the object in question, and emit a reassuring beep, indicating that the requested tasks had been successfully completed.

"Got it!" Wade confirmed. "I'll start running the data and let you know the moment I know something."

"Spankin' as usual, Wade! Over and out." And with that, Kim severed the connection, plunging the tiny screen back into darkness. Then, she turned toward her makeshift team.

"Good work, you two." She congratulated. "Things may not have gone _completely_ according to plan, but we improvised and pulled it out in the end."

"Goll-ly! Ah'll say!" Joss crowed. "That was more excitin' than shearin' an ornery sheep in springtime!"

Ron, on the other hand, appeared decidedly less enthusiastic. He simply looked downward and mumbled something incoherent as he stared as his tattered glove once more.

Reading the non-verbal signs and figuring where this was going, Kim decided to lightly broach the subject. She slowly stepped over to her boyfriend's side and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You want to talk about it, sweetie?" she asked softly.

"Huh… well, I dunno." Ron muttered in response. "It's just that… Why does this all have to be so random, ya' know. I mean, I've got these powers, and they're supposed to make we this ultimate warrior or something, so why do they just crop up whenever?"

"It just makes no sense! Less than none, in fact!" he continued to fume, pacing about in an agitated fashion. "I don't fight battles… I make cameo appearances! What the heck kind of hero does that make me? What kind of soldier doesn't even know when or if he'll show up for a fight?" He abruptly ceased his pacing and slumped his shoulders as he completed this final thought; his back turned toward his two companions.

Kim regarded his dejected form for a moment, and heaved a sigh of her own, recognizing the nature of the sitch. True to his nature, Ron was questioning himself, to spite everything that transpired to this point. He had a self-critical streak within him that ran a country mile wide, and it was now showing itself once again. She needed to stop the emotional bleeding, experience had taught her, before he sank too deep into one of his trademark funks.

"Hey, it's not that bad." Kim began, walking up behind Ron's sullen form. "I mean, sure, the whole timing thing does seem a little random, but at least your powers tend to show up at the right moment."

Ron simply glanced back over his shoulder with a questioning expression.

"Well think about it for a sec." Kim continued as cheerfully as she could. "Graduation… the mission in Germany… this sitch here… The only reason that Joss and I are still breathing is because of you. Your powers may not show themselves very often, but when they do, their timing is usually impeccable."

"Maybe that thar's just it." Joss suddenly broke in, thoughtfully scratching her auburn locks.

"Explain?" Kim inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Well with me it was those rocks up yonder," Joss continued, thrusting a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the bluff above them, "and if Ah heard right from mah pa, then them green varmints were gonna turn you into some sorta stuffed huntin' trophy, right?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it in a nutshell." Kim confirmed, absent-mindedly wrapping her arms around herself and shuddering at the memory. The image of what Ron had described to her following their Graduation ordeal still chilled her to the core, and was something that she presumed she would never be completely over.

"Well then, Ah reckon that Ron's powers come around when he's got the right motivation." Joss reasoned. "Ya' know, life and death sitches, and what not."

For a long moment, both Kim and Ron simply looked incredulously at the young redhead, then at each other. There was no denying the fact, after all, that Joss was definitely onto something. After months of Ron fretting about the nature of his abilities, and an equally long time of Kim trying to quell his fears, the young girl before them had just stepped up and smacked the nail squarely on the head.

"Heh… Out of the mouths of babes, eh?" Ron finally observed, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck.

"Hey!" Joss suddenly spoke up. "Ah ain't no kid anymore! Just whatcha'll be meanin' by… wait a sec… do ya'll mean 'babe' as in 'youngin,' or 'babe' as in…"

"Ah, let's say the first one and leave it at that!" Kim briskly broke in, not liking at all where the conversation was heading. "Besides, the important thing is that we're all here, and we're all okay."

"Yeah, Ah reckon…" Joss agreed, walking over to Ron and placing her arms around him once again. "Thanks to one heck of an hombre, here."

For a brief moment, Kim considered breaking in once again. But one look at the heartwarming scene before her, however, sent her mind down a different track, and toward a different course of action.

Moving over to Ron's side opposite her cousin, Kim quickly joined the embrace, allowing her own gratitude to flow softly into him. Both women sighed contentedly as Ron brought his arms up to hold both of them close.

"Thanks, Ron."

"Yeah… Way to ride thar, buckaroo."

"_Meh…_ Just doing that voodoo that I do." Ron nonchalantly replied with a smile. "Though it's just too bad I didn't have this kind of touch with the ladies back in high school… _Oooof!"_

A pair of playful fists being driven into his gut temporarily drove the air from his lungs.

"Careful, mister, or you'll be _walking_ back to the ranch." Kim playfully chided, picking up her pack. Gracefully slipping into the shoulder straps, the shaded her eyes and took a long look toward the western sky, now burning with deep crimson and amber hues.

"Now c'mon! It's getting late and we've got a long ride ahead of us." She observed before turning and starting the long hike back down the ravine to the spot where their horses were still tied.

"Never argue with family." Joss observed, retrieving her own gear from the ground and following closely behind Kim. "Time to hit the trail, Ron!"

"_Yippie-yo-ki-yay, yada, yada, yada…"_ Ron moaned, shouldering his gear and dutifully following the two red-haired figures in front of him. As he started down the ravine, he could almost feel the saddle sores that he knew he was soon to have.

* * *

"Hydraulic systems check… Navigation is up and running… Communications are online."

"And our engine status?"

"Nominal."

"That's what I like to hear."

"I believe that we are officially 'go' for take-off! Put us into position, Ron!"

"Can do, KP… Can do!"

The sleek form of the fighter glided effortlessly along the surface of the tarmac, giving the appearance of a vehicle that ran on rails, rather than rubber tires. Rolling smoothly to the far end of the runway, it's needle-like nose swung wide through a graceful arc as it completed a full 180-degree turn, finally coming to rest pointed directly down the center of the long, asphalt strip.

Pausing to take one final reading of his instruments, Ron took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips. Then, with the gentle grace of a bartender sliding a wineglass across a marble countertop, he nudged the throttle forward, sending Sky Rat speeding down the runway toward an appointment with the clouds above.

Looking up from her own instruments as the sudden acceleration pushed her back into her seat, Kim glanced out the left side of the canopy, and noticed a lone horseback-mounted figure, intently watching their departure from a nearby hilltop. Even with the person's features all but obliterated by the intense backlight of the sunset, her identity was still recognizable. Kim knew the silhouette of her cousin anywhere, and it made sense that the young girl would come to see the intrepid duo off.

And that put another thought into Kim's head.

The vibrations of the runway suddenly dissipated as Ron eased the massive form of the Tomcat free from the constraints of mother earth, and a distinct "click" was felt a few moments later as the landing gear snapped itself firmly into place beneath them. The serene peacefulness of flight now engulfed them, and Kim took the opportunity to voice her newfound concerns.

"_Sooooo,_ Ron…" she awkwardly began, "You and Joss seem to get along rather well."

"Huh? Oh yeah, well she's a great kid." Ron casually observed, adjusting Sky Rat's pitch and taking a compass reading. "Ya' know, I think she's really starting to get the hang of the whole 'hero' thing."

"Yeah… well, I guess it runs in the family." Kim chuckled, deciding to try a different tack. "She really seemed to take a liking to you, though, don't you think?"

"Well she's such a friendly kid, after all." Ron replied just as casually as before. "I mean, it's like she's the reincarnation of Will Rogers or something: I doubt she ever met a person she didn't like."

"So you didn't notice anything off-center about her at all?"

"No." came Ron's matter-of-fact reply. "Why? What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing… nothing at all!" Kim quickly fudged. "I mean, I thought there was something… but… I guess I was just over-anxious. You know, what with not having seen her for so long and everything…"

"Oh yeah. I totally gotcha." Ron responded with a smile before turning his attention back toward the clouds in front of them.

Kim settled back into her seat, breathing a sigh of relief. True to his nature, Ron had been completely unaware of the signals Joss had been sending his way, and Kim would be darned if she was going to point it out to him. What he didn't know couldn't hurt her, she figured.

She sometimes surmised that Ron's obliviousness was one of the best things about him, as it prevented him from picking up on the subtle flirtations that were so often directed his way. Making his way through life, ever faithfully at her side, he invariably failed to register the signals that other women broadcast… And if these signals didn't register, then they couldn't be acted upon.

Even then, Kim didn't take this as an opportunity to let her guard down, of course. Subtle hints may roll right over Ron, but not-so-subtle hints could be a different matter entirely, and any girl so foolish as to try upping the ante in this way would quickly discover what the world's super villains already knew quite well: That Kim Possible was not a person you wanted to cross. Sixteen styles of Kung Fu were enough to put a serious load of hurt on just about anyone: Especially someone reckless enough to make a move on her man.

But such aggressive thoughts were now banished to the back of her mind, however, as peaceful quiet of altitude now quickly surrounded them. Soaring amongst the clouds where even the birds themselves didn't dare go, all was serenity and bliss. Taking a final check of her displays, she closed her eyes and settled contentedly back into her seat to enjoy the remainder of the flight. It was just her and Ron, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Wow! Over three months since my last update on this story! I must've really fallen off the wagon back there or something, huh? It's good to finally be back in the saddle.

On a personal note, I'd like to thank everyone who gave me a nod during the Third Annual Fannie Awards. Although I didn't take home any awards, I consider receiving seven first-round nominations and advancing to the final round in one category to be a victory in and of itself. All in all… not a bad showing for a first-year author, I like to think.

The lyrics to "I Am, I Said" by Neil Diamond are something that's always bothered me for some reason. "Awkwierd" would be an appropriate adjective, I suppose, and I just felt like throwing that in here. It's _my_ story, after all: I can write it however I want to! _Nyeaaaah!_

_Weatherman Draw:_ Located in south-central Montana, Weatherman Draw is a thousand-year-old cultural site showcasing the largest collection of native artwork to be found on the North American continent. Know to native tribes as the "Valley of the Shields," or the "Valley of the Chiefs," artwork contained within its boundaries dates back to a time more than 500 years before the arrival of Columbus, and indicates the presence of individuals from as far south as present-day northern Mexico.

Sacred to over a half-dozen native tribes, the 4,270-acre draw was thrust into the national spotlight in 1994 when leases for oil exploration were purchased by the Anschutz Exploration Corporation. With the prospect of large-scale drilling within the draw a very real possibility, Native Americans and environmentalist groups alike feared the wholesale destruction of both the environment and the numerous works of art to be found here.

An advocacy campaign was quickly launched to prevent drilling within the draw, but such efforts gave all the appearance of a David-versus-Goliath fight. The proponents of saving the draw were primarily a grass-roots organization, while Phillip Anschutz, the owner and president of Anschutz Exploration, was one of the wealthiest men in the world with a personal fortune of 9 billion, and holdings that included major stakes in such companies as United Artists, Qwest Communications, and the Los Angeles Lakers.

Ultimately, however, the land itself was the real winner, as a comprehensive public relations campaign of media exposure, political lobbying and direct negotiations led to the forfeiture by Anschutz Exploration of all drilling rights, and the donation of the leases in question to the Federal Bureau of Land Management. Today, the entire episode is recorded and studied as a prime example of how small groups can protect their own interests against encroachment by larger, more powerful corporations.

Well Ron has finally traded his saddle back in for an ejection seat once again, but what does the future hold next in store for our intrepid heroes. I ain't saying nothing! (What? You want me to give away the plot? Dream on, dudes!)

Stay tuned for Chapter Seven, when something will happen… to… somebody. (How's _that_ for specific and helpful?)

Later, gators!

_Nutzkie…_


	7. Fire in the Sky

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100 Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Seven -**

A blur of bright pink streaked through rush hour traffic at break-neck speed, brokering no argument from any vehicle so foolish as to get in its driver's way. The audaciously colored coupe slashed and weaved its way through throngs of commuters and lunchtime drivers, paying heed to neither speed limits nor turn signals, it's driver clearly a person on a mission.

And indeed, its driver _was_ a mission. Hanging a hard right as she exited the freeway, Kim Possible tightened her grip on the wheel and gritted her teeth. She was used to extreme situations by now, having faced death and disaster more times than any ten ordinary people put together, but there were some situations that still managed to put her on edge. She squinted slightly and muttered an oath as she mentally reviewed her current circumstances.

So far, this had been the day from hell. She had been awoken at 6:30 that morning by the sound of an explosion, only to learn that her brothers had destroyed her laptop and her I-pod as part of a failed attempt to launch a food processor into low earth orbit.

Things had pretty much gone downhill from there.

Her morning shift at Club Banana had been a marathon of continually re-straightening displays, answering dumb questions, and smiling at snippy customers who seemed to blame her for the fact that they could no longer fit their own flabby selves into a size six. Doubly gorchy was the fact that Monique had called in sick with a stomach virus, leaving Kim to face the onslaught alone.

The cherry on top of it all came later in the day, however, when a certain buxom brunette had strode haughtily into the store bearing looks that could kill and an attitude that could induce vomiting.

To spite what the status of "summer school student" might lead one to believe, Bonnie Rockwaller was by no means stupid. The former cheerleader and aspiring vixen could be quite devious in her own twisted way, and such talents would occasionally manifest themselves in chilling form. In the current case, she had learned that Club Banana employees were required to remain pleasant and polite at all times, no matter how rude, obnoxious, or otherwise out-of-line a customer may be. For Kim, it was like going into a fight with both her hands tied behind her back, and for Bonnie, it was like an open invitation to cop an attitude. In the bronzed beauty's view of the world, this was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up.

Needless to say, by the time her shift ended, Kim was a virtual basket case, ready to spin around a punch the first person that so much as dared to look at her cross-eyed. A dangerous rage burned within her as she made her way across town, heading for the one thing that she knew would calm and soothe her frayed nerves before she wound up doing something that would test the limits of the phrase "justifiable homicide."

The sloth barely slowed as it cruised through the service gate at Middleton Airport, with Kim briskly flashing her Global Justice I.D. as she passed the startled security guard. The modified suspension was put to the test as multiple speed bumps barely stunted the car's forward progress, and the final turn was nearly completed on two wheels as she brought the vehicle to a stop inside the garage area at the back of the familiar building.

Taking several deep, cleansing breaths, she gradually released her vice-like grip of the steering wheel, unclipped her safety belt, and stepped out of the car. She knew why she was here, and she knew what she needed to do. However, she also knew that she had to take the proper attitude before she entered. If she were to allow her anger to get the best of her, or otherwise lose control of her actions, then she would risk losing everything in the throes of an unintended outburst. She had to remain calm… She had to be steady.

Finally, after several moments of mental preparation, Kim took one last breath and opened the double doors leading to the next room.

The sight that greeted her emerald-green eyes was something that qualified as the first humorous thing she had seen that day. There, perched precariously atop a stepladder with a rag in one hand and a bottle of carnauba wax in the other, was the animated vestige of her boyfriend. Wearing a threadbare pair of cargo pants and a tank top, he was enthusiastically buffing his beloved bird to a high-gloss shine, all the while waxing in time to the beat of an Oh Boys track that came blasting from a nearby boom box. Kim couldn't help but giggle slightly as she took note of Rufus, vigorously rubbing his own rag in small circles, diligently working on his own patch of plane.

After allowing herself a few moments to take in the silliness of it all, she decided it was finally time to make her presence known.

"Whoa! Uh… Hey there, K.P.!" Ron nervously stammered as he turned around to identify the source of the sound behind him. "So… How long have you been, (gulp), standing there?"

"Long enough." Kim replied with a knowing smirk, causing an apparent majority of Ron's blood to rush to his face. "Waxing the wings, are we?"

"Wha… Oh, yeah. We're just about done with the left side." Ron replied, nodding toward the object of his current attention. "Hey! You wanna help out?"

"Ordinarily, yeah." Kim responded, her mood suddenly turning sullen. "But right now I've got something else on my plate."

With this admission, Ron turned to face his girlfriend fully, noticing for the first time her melancholy demeanor. As someone who had known the redhead for nearly her entire life, he could read her moods like a book, and the current chapter looked to be a somewhat less than happy one.

"I know you're busy right now and what not," Kim continued, "but could you spare about ten minutes or so? It's just been one of those days so far, and I… I…"

"You need a little shot of Ronshine to pull you through?" Ron asked, guessing where Kim was going with the conversation.

Kim simply nodded in silence, bringing her arms up to embrace herself and shuddering slightly. To Ron, the simple gesture spoke volumes, and he knew exactly what needed to be done.

"Okay Rufus, take five!" he called over to his tiny pink assistant. "There's some premium smoked cheddar in the mini fridge. Go knock yourself out."

At the mere mention of cheese, Rufus needed no second invitation. With a tiny salute he was off in a pink blur, heading for the kitchenette in the next room, turning the boom box off as he passed.

Carefully climbing down from his perch on the ladder, Ron gently put a comforting arm around his girlfriend's shoulders, (a gesture which she gratefully accepted), and led them both back through the double doors leading to the break room.

No sooner was the pair seated on the large sofa that lined one side of the room, before Kim had pulled in close to Ron, wrapping both her arms around his chest and nestling her face deep into the crook of his shoulder. She sighed contentedly as Ron tenderly drew his arms around her and began to gently massage the tense muscles of her back and shoulders.

Tension and stress now ebbed away like the tide, quickly giving way relaxation and bliss. Any and all thoughts of the day's disastrous events were forgotten as her world now shrank to a tiny sphere encompassing only her and Ron. It was a harsh and chaotic world at times, she had to admit, and sometimes she questioned whether it was even worth saving, but as long as she had _this,_ then she could make it through. She could see her way clear to fight another day, just as long as she had Ron along with her. He was her center, her emotional anchor, and in his arms she found a source of strength and belonging that she had never found anywhere else, and the longer she lived, the more strongly she became convinced that she never would.

She sighed again, craning her face upward to lightly nuzzle a particular spot just below his ear. It was one of his ticklish zones, she had long ago learned, and the reflexive giggle it elicited from him was like music to her own ears. She tried her best to look innocent as he glanced downward with a knowing smirk, then pulled her even closer to himself, gently kissing the top of her forehead through her auburn locks.

Oh yeah… This was _definitely_ just what the doctor ordered.

She craned her neck even further to capture his lips with her own when an all-too familiar sound roared through the tender silence like a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerine plant.

"What?" Kim growled, a little more harshly than she intended to, as Wade's familiar image appeared on the flat screen TV that adorned the wall opposite the sofa.

"Oh, uhhhhh… Bad time, guys?" Wade nervously stammered, his pre-teen mind stumbling awkwardly through the sitch.

"Ferociously." Kim informed.

"Well, I can… uh… call back later, if you want."

"Just forget about it, Wade. The moment's already gone." Kim lamented. "What have you got for us?"

"Two things actually." Wade replied. "First, I think I've managed to pinpoint the target area of our next clue."

"Well _that's_ certainly good news!" Ron chimed in, loosening his grip on Kim to lean forward and take in the conversation.

"And second?" Kim inquired.

"There's a secondary mission for you guys to take care of on your way there. I'm uploading all of the particulars to Sky Rat's onboard computers now." Wade dutifully informed. "Briefing materials, maps, intelligence reports, it'll all be there by the time you get the engines up and running."

"Okay, Wade. We're on the job." Kim replied, reluctantly extricating herself from Ron's embrace and rising to her feet. "We'll beep you once we're in the air."

"Roger that. Wade out!" And the oversized screen went black.

"Well, it looks like duty calls." Kim sighed, heading toward her locker in the back corner of the room.

"Yeah, it always does." Ron lamented, quickly following Kim's lead as he too fetched his flight suit and the duo began to gear up.

* * *

"We're going to do _what?_"

"Uh_, land?"_

"On _that_ little flyspeck?"

"Kim, that 'flyspeck' is over twelve hundred feet long."

"I don't care! It looks like a floating postage stamp from up here, and I'm not liking the possibilities."

"Hey! This isn't something I haven't done before, after all!"

"Well, I suppose that's a _little_ comfort."

"I mean, I'm bound to get it right sooner or later, aren't I?"

_"…And that's not."_

To be honest, Kim didn't know why she was so nervous about the current sitch. Sure, she had heard of carrier landings being referred to as "controlled crashes," but Ron was right, after all: He had done this dozens of times and enjoyed the benefits of some of the best training available anywhere. He could put a 50 million dollar airplane down onto a pitching carrier deck in bad weather, stop it on a dime, and give you nine cents change when he was done. He was one of the elite few, and there was no one in the world that she would trust more with the task at hand.

But still, there was just something about trying to land an airframe as large as a Tomcat onto a piece of floating real estate not much larger than a football field that set her pulse to racing. There was zero margin for error here, and so many things that could go wrong. As a salty old carrier sailor once observed, "There are far more airplanes in the ocean then there are submarines in the sky."

"Mad Dog One, this is Pri-Fly. You are clear to the slot." Came the sudden radio call, startling Kim out of her thoughts. "Call the ball."

"Roger ball." Was Ron's snappily brief reply, and with that statement, he dipped his left wing and began the wide, sweeping turn that would bring them in line with the Thor's expansive flight deck.

With her RIO duties completed for this mission, Kim was now relegated to the role of passenger while Ron took them through their approach. Instinctively, she reached up to grip the hand holds that were mounted behind the headrest of Ron's seat and swallowed hard. She felt the wings level out and chanced a cautious glance forward, feeling her heart leap as she saw the massive flight deck suddenly accelerate toward them, quickly changing from a tiny speck in the ocean below to a great mass of asphalt and steel that filled the windscreen. As the final moments of flight rapidly raced away, she closed her eyes and held her breath.

What happened next was a cacophony of sound, playing itself out through the entire cockpit: The roar of the engines as Ron pushed the throttle to full afterburner, the chirp of rubber tires kissing the deck, the metallic clang of the tail hook impacting the same, and the high-pitched whine of the arrestor cable playing itself out through the giant spools that lined either side of the aft deck.

Then there was the sensation of falling as the sudden deceleration pitched her forward into her harness. She could feel a distinct sting as the heavy nylon straps dug into her shoulders, promising to leave bruises that would be reminding her of this experience for at least the next few days.

Finally, there was a "bouncing back" sensation as Sky Rat came to a complete stop, then rolled back slightly under the tension of the arrestor cable.

By the time she opened her eyes, Sky Rat was surrounded by a buzz of activity. As Ron retracted their tail hook, a large group of the deck crew swarmed in to secure the plane. Some checked the wings and fuselage for any loose of damaged equipment, while two others approached with folding stepladders to assist the team out of the cockpit. To the front a trio approached to attach one of the ship's many pusher tractors to the nose wheel. It wasn't but a few moments before they had been maneuvered away from the center of the landing strip and onto one of the four massive elevators that ringed the perimeter of the deck. A few moments longer, and they were safely ensconced below deck, within the confines of the cavernous hangar.

"Just another day at the office, eh KP?" Ron jovially asked, glancing back as he pulled off his helmet.

"Most offices don't go from two hundred miles per hour to a dead stop in under five seconds." Kim dryly observed, rubbing the soreness from her aching shoulders. "How do you ever get used to that?"

"You get used to never getting used to it." Ron replied as the canopy cracked open, admitting a sudden burst of fresh salt air. "It's just part of the job."

"Ever consider a comfy desk job somewhere?"

"Occasionally, but I stick around here because I like the hours."

"Natch."

"Gotta go with what works."

And with that, the two teen heroes dismounted to the ground and began walking hand-in-hand toward the stairway that would take them deep into the steel bowels of their temporary home away from home.

* * *

All in all, life on an aircraft carrier wasn't as bad as one might expect. Sure, it was cramped, somewhat sterile, and left something to be desired in terms of privacy, but it wasn't without its good points as well. The entire vessel was the very image of supreme organization, leaving one always aware of what was happening and when. If there was ever a problem, there were clear-cut guidelines of where and whom to go to, and you could always count on those around you to be where you needed them, when you needed them there.

And even the cramped conditions themselves held certain advantages, surprisingly enough. This was something that Kim would have never suspected on her own, but it nonetheless was made perfectly clear that evening when the nightly call of "lights out" went 'round.

Unlike enlisted personnel who were forced to literally share bunks in a practice known as "warm racking," commissioned officers enjoyed the privacy of their own stateroom. However, unlike the spacious cabins of the same name that were normally available on cruise ships, a stateroom on a carrier wasn't much bigger than your average-sized walk-in closet. The six-by-ten foot room was sparsely furnished, providing little more than a bunk, a writing desk, a small wardrobe cabinet, and a sink in the corner. More extensive bathroom facilities were located at the end of the corridor, but when it came to one's personal space, the simple stainless steel washbasin was about as luxurious as things got.

For a young woman used to the normal routine of feminine primping and personal maintenance, such minimalist facilities represented a major adjustment, but it was the bunk that had grabbed Kim's attention most of all.

Like everything else about the diminutive space, it fell on the small side of normal, and that in turn presented certain advantages. Without the ample real estate that they were both accustomed to, she and Ron were forced to lay close against each other: Perhaps closer than they had ever slept before.

It was a maneuver born of necessity that quickly grew into something much more enjoyable. Months earlier, before Ron had enlisted, the rides they accepted in the backs of dusty cargo planes and military transports provided some of their best quality time together as a couple. With the pilots well occupied in the cockpit and several hours to kill, some of their most enjoyable make-out sessions had taken place among stacks of anonymous packing crates and miscellaneous equipment. Kim often remembered such experiences fondly, and lamented the fact that with Ron now most often being the one at the controls, such amorous activities were far fewer and farther between.

But now, alone together in the dark, a golden opportunity was presented: An opportunity to make up for lost time.

Never being one to take the passive approach, Kim was quick to seize the initiative, pulling tight against Ron's left side and allowing him to wrap his arm around her. Gently, she slid her hand up onto his chest and allowed her slender fingers to dexterously undo the top two buttons of his pajamas. Soon, she was tracing small circles with her fingertips in the light curls of hair that adorned the space between his pecks, feeling the taught definition of the muscles that had been developing there for over a year now.

Moaning slightly, Ron leaned down ad kissed the top of her head, prompting Kim to look up and capture his lips with her own. The kiss quickly deepened in its intensity, however, and within moments Kim had rolled herself on top of him, kissing him ravenously and allowing him to return the favor in equal measure. Hands explored and tongues fought for dominance over one another. Breath came in ragged gasps, and sensations of pure electric energy raced up and down their spines and throughout their entire bodies. It was perhaps more intimate than either of them had ever been with each other, and it wasn't until sheer exhaustion from the days events caught up with them that the decision was made to finally break it off for the night. Needless to say, neither of them got much sleep that night, but the sleep that was had was of the most wonderful sort, both their dreams filled with nothing but good knowing that the other was there right beside them.

* * *

A few hours later, following a hearty breakfast on of the ship's many mess decks, the duo found themselves in full flight gear and sitting in one of the five ready rooms that could be found along the starboard side of the gallery deck, just between the flight deck above, and the hangar deck below.

Anticipation hung heavy in the air as over two dozen young men and women awaited word of what their destination would be on this day. Some sat idly in the comfortable theater-style chairs that filled the room, while others stood along the room's periphery, either lounging against the wall of pacing nervously back and forth. Some anxiously twiddled their thumbs, and some fidgeted with the clasp of their wristwatch, or whatever odd item they had managed to procure.

Kim slowly took in the scene, noting how the tension was almost palpable. Whatever was brewing this morning, it was big, and she mentally braced herself for whatever was going to happen next.

A quick glance to her left made her feel somewhat better about the entire sitch. Ron was sitting right beside her, a look of growing intensity quickly spreading across his face. It was what she had come to know as his "game face," and it indicated that he was working his way into a mental position where he would be ready for action, physically and mentally prepared for whatever challenges the job may present.

Kim had to marvel at the novelty of the situation. Barely a year ago, she would have never expected Ron to be capable of such laser-like focus and intensity. Even when he displayed his "serious face," he was laid back and easily distracted. His scattered thought patterns and child-like wonder inhibited his ability to focus on any important task, and made living up to his true potential a truly daunting task.

But ever since his enlistment, Ron had changed. The playful and carefree side of him that she loved so much was still there to be certain, but now, when the situation called for it, he would become steadfast and focused: a burning intensity showing through from behind his chocolate brown eyes. He would commit himself fully to the task at hand, and execute his duties with both precision and determination: As ferocious as a tiger, and as serious as a heart attack.

He had grown so much in just a few short months that Kim sometimes found herself star-struck. She could only gaze in awe at what this loose and loveable loafer had become… what he had transformed himself into… and that he had done it all for her. Indeed, he had stated emphatically on multiple occasions that his entire motivation for joining the Eagles had been his overwhelming desire to prove himself worthy of her, and to become a better partner to her in the process. For three months he had forged a path through the fires of Hell, and had emerged a changed person on the other side: Tempered and hardened by the flames, but still maintaining the wondrous spark of his beautiful soul.

With Ron now firmly entrenched within the "zone," he was oblivious to the world around him, and Kim could only continue to gaze at this stoic image of duty and determination. She quickly found herself becoming lost in his stone-set stare, and nearly jumped out of her seat when the stillness of the room was disturbed by the sudden entrance of their squadron's commanding officer.

"Eyes front, Eagles!" he briskly started off, walking swiftly to the podium that graced the front of the room. "We don't have a lot of time here, so I'm only going to say this once. I suggest that you all pay attention."

"My staff assistants are now passing out your briefing packets." He continued, as a rustling sound from the back of the room indicated that the aforementioned materials were indeed being dispersed. "Hereafter, this operation will be referred to as 'Operation Rollback.'"

Kim's attention shifted to her side as one of the junior enlisted men in the room shoved a small stack of manila folders under her nose. Briskly, she took two for herself and Ron, and passed the rest forward. After handing Ron his materials, she quickly opened her own folder and began to follow along. At the same time, a curtain behind the podium parted to reveal a large, flat-screen television with a graphic display showing the plotted route and waypoints of the planned mission.

"Rollback, ladies and gentlemen," the officer started again, "is a two-pronged strike mission against a large industrial complex located here, on the island of Xiamen, off the central coast of China. The facilities here are owned and operated by this man." The screen suddenly switched to an image of a well-groomed man with a purple shirt, black sport coat, and a smiling face that Kim found all-too familiar.

"_Jack Hench."_ She growled under her breath, taking note of the look of recognition that played out across Ron's face as well.

"HenchCo, as his organization is known," the officer continued, "is the worlds largest manufacturer and supplier of 'advanced aggression-based technologies to the private sector.'" He read the last line with a strong tint of sarcasm in his voice, clearly disgusted with the creatively worded euphemism that Hench's lawyers used to protect the company from being labeled a criminal enterprise.

"Our intelligence recently indicated that HenchCo soon plans to release a new line of combat-equipped robots that the company is referring to as 'Destructo-Droids.'" The speaker continued. "Although HenchCo has produced similar technology in the past, this development represents a major step up in capability. For this model year, HenchCo's droids will feature 'fire-and-forget' missile systems, upgraded laser cannons, advanced infra-red and motion sensors, situation-adaptable programming, and will be available in three stylish new colors including Caribbean Blue, Hunter Green, and Onyx."

"Oooooh! They should do well with that!" Ron quietly remarked. "Green is supposed to be 'in' this year."

Kim simply laid a light elbow into his ribs and returned her attention to the front.

"Clearly, we cannot allow such advanced weaponry to fall into the hands of this planet's more unsavory individuals," the speaker continued once again, "so to that end, we have marked this installation for destruction. As the primary production center for HenchCo's droids, crippling the facilities here will shut down the entire operation.

"The plan is a s follows: The main strike force will approach from the north-by-northeast, flying along a heading of one-nine-five degrees at an altitude of 26,000 feet. An advanced force will precede the main force by a distance of two miles, flying at 20,000 feet.

"Recon reports that the facilities here are protected by a integrated air-defense network with SAM batteries concentrated here, along the eastern boundary of the complex, and to the northwest near this cluster of buildings. Therefore the advance force will consist of four F-4/Gs, functioning in a 'Wild Weasel' role. The boys from VAQ-4 will be equipped with AGM-88s for this task."

"_Wild weasel?"_ Kim whispered, leaning over toward Ron.

"Diversionary tactic." Ron quietly explained. "They trick enemy radars into revealing their positions by targeting them, then turn around and roast the jerks with anti-radiation missiles."

"Ah, gotcha."

"The main force will be a composite group consisting of six A-6s from squadron VB-6, and six A-7s from VA-12." The speaker continued on, unabated. "VB-6 will be carrying GBU-32 ordinance and will strike here, destroying these large buildings near the center of the complex. These structures are the primary production facility, and contain all of the assembly and sub-assembly lines in the plant, as well as the onsite power generation facility. If we take out this infrastructure, we cut the heart out of HenchCo's entire operation. Are there any questions so far?"

When his question was answered with nothing but silence, the officer continued.

"Good! As VB-6 exits the target area, VAL-12 will sweep in low around the western boundary of the complex and attack the area here, to the south. These warehouses here are the shipping and receiving department, where all incoming raw materials are processed, and finished products are shipped to HenchCo's customers around the world. Our Corsairs will attack with a load-out of CBU-72s that should prove effective both against the warehouses and any vehicles parked nearby. Once this is accomplished, VAL-12 will then turn back into the target area and complete another pass, this time engaging any targets of opportunity with strafing attacks."

"_Okay… So far, so good."_ Kim silently observed to herself_. "But that leaves the question of where do we fit into all of this."_

"Which brings me to the subject of our escorting squadrons." The officer then stated.

_"Bingo."_

"Our latest intel reports that HenchCo has recently obtained a small number of fourth-generation interceptors through a third party based somewhere in Europe. We believe these aircraft to be either Eurofighter Typhoons or Dassault Rafales, although at this time we are unable to determine which. If engaged by these craft, remember your spotting features and try to verify their identity: The Typhoon has box-shaped intakes under its fuselage, while the Rafale sports a uniquely-shaped refueling tube from its upper-right side."

"There is a civilian airport on the mainland to the west where we expect the HenchCo squadron to be based. However, there is also heavy civilian traffic in the vicinity, so be sure to positively identify your targets before engaging. This is a politically sensitive part of the world folks… We can't afford a major incident. Questions?"

"Yes sir." One airman in the back spoke up, raising his hand. "What are the anticipated air-to-air threats?"

"At this time, we believe the enemy to be in possession of AA-11 Archer heat seeking missiles, although we believe these to be the older R-73 variant with the associated reduced range. Also, we do not believe that these weapons possess the helmet-mounted targeting capability or advanced counter-countermeasures of the frontline AA-11 models."

"BVR?" the airman inquired.

"At this time, our intel does not indicate the enemy to be in possession of 'beyond visual range' capability." Came the reply. "Anything else?"

"No sir."

"Very well, then." He continued. "Escort duties will be carried out by selected elements of squadrons VF-4 and VF-5, organized into four teams of four ships each. Call signs for each group are listed in the briefing reports you're currently holding. These groups will position themselves in a protective position above and behind the main force, trailing by a distance of a half-mile at an altitude of 32,000 feet. In the interest of preventing collateral damage, said units are instructed not to fire unless fired upon."

A few muttered oaths could be heard filtering through the room as this was said. A notoriously aggressive and self-motivated lot, fighter pilots hated going into battle with their hands tied. Having to submit themselves to restrictive rules of engagement was something that usually went over about as well as a waterproof sponge.

"Following this, all units will rendezvous here, at the location labeled 'Point Recall,' four nautical miles due south of the target. S-3 tankers of VAK-1 will be stationed at positions here and here along the route for those of you who need it, and an E-2 from squadron VAW-1 will be keeping watch over you for the duration. If you need a status report on the tactical situation, his call sign will be 'Ghost Eye.'" The officer concluded. "You'll then return to formation and head home to what should be one heckuva party! Last one to catch a wire buys the drinks!"

That remark elicited a faint smattering of laughter from the room.

"Are there any other questions?"

Not a word was spoken in reply.

"All right then… There's nothing to it but to do it, folks!" the officer bellowed, straightening him self to look out across the room. "Dismissed!"

"Wow. He sure doesn't beat around the bush much, does he?" Kim observed, rising up out of her seat to follow the rest of the squadron out the door.

"Yeah. Commander Argus does tend to favor the direct approach." Ron replied as the group turned into a narrow corridor and headed for the nearby escalator that would take them to the flight deck above. "I heard that he once danced the Minute Waltz in thirty seconds."

"Let's hear it for brevity." Kim responded as they stepped onto the moving staircase and began their ascent toward the wide-open and windswept space above.

* * *

Altitude has a surprising way of bringing clarity to the world; many people might be surprised to learn. Accustomed to their normal "sea-level" lives, most individuals don't realize the visual distortion caused by simple air molecules. Distant objects become blurry, and a light haze constantly surrounds us all. It's like perpetually looking at the world through screen door, and the majority of people simply take it all for granted.

For Kim Possible, this lesson was now being driven home with crystal clarity. Soaring more than six miles above the open sea, she found she could see more than forty miles in all directions. Objects so far away that they would be lost over the horizon at lower altitudes now became easily identifiable, and she found she could just make out the slightest hint of the earth's curvature.

Glancing to her left and right, she took note of the three other Tomcats that were dutifully riding their wings in fingertip formation. These were the other members of Ron's team, and it was their collective job to anchor the right flank of the Eagles defensive line. To their left, another team from the "Red Tails" could be seen in their assigned positions, and beyond that, the two teams of their counterpart squadron appeared just as ready.

She took note of the elegant paint scheme carried by the F-18 Hornets of this second group. While the majority of the airframe was done in a light gray, there was a narrow "V" of royal blue outlined in gold that started mid-ship, right between the wings. Widening as it swept forward, the sides of this blue field curved gracefully down the sides of the fuselage until they met once again beneath the cockpit, leaving the entire nose of the aircraft in a truly regal tone.

It was a motif with a meaning, Kim had learned, for these were the "Blue-Nosed Bastards" of squadron VF-5, and they enjoyed a reputation nearly as outstanding as the Red Tails. It was an effective one-two punch that the enemy would be hard pressed to counter.

Ahead of and below them, the planes of the strike team were maintaining their own positions. Craning her neck to look over Ron's shoulder, Kim could clearly see the familiar outlines of Vought A-7 Corsairs, bearing broad, yellow stripes on their wings, fuselages and tails. These were the "Yellow Jackets" of VA-12: A light-attack squadron with a reputation for swift precision that would be the envy of most top-notch surgeons.

To the Yellowjacket's left flew the A-6/E Intruders of VB-6: The "Windreapers." Packing clusters of 1,000-pound satellite-guided bombs under their wings, they would be the first to put steel on target: The last delivery that this particular factory would ever receive.

Ahead of it all, in the far-off distance, she could see the quartet of F-4 Phantoms flown by the "Phantasms" of VAQ-4, their solid-black tails bearing the stylized silhouette of a goblin's face. These four planes were the vanguard of the group… the sharp end of the stick… and the fate of the entire mission hinged on their ability to do their job.

Under any other circumstances, Kim would have found this to be cause for great concern. As an ordinarily "take-charge" sort of person, she was used to handling things herself, taking her own fate in her own hands. Delegating responsibility in this way just wasn't part of her usual _modus operandi._

But in this sitch, however, she felt she could relax somewhat. In the few short months that she had been working with the Eagles, she had come to know them as a group of pure professionals, skilled in their abilities and dedicated to their duty. If she could count on anyone, it would be this group of people. She could count on them more than anyone else in the world.

Well, with the obvious exception of the one person currently seated in front of her, of course.

Glancing down at her displays, she took a quick note of the tactical situation. Nothing appeared out of place, as the only blips on her screen were clearly identified as being friendly. She began cycling through other scan modes, just to be sure, when she became aware of a faint sound. It started small at first, barely audible over the sound of the engines, but it quickly grew, taking on a melodic, almost musical nature.

It took several seconds to realize that the sound was coming from in front of her, and her curiosity was piqued even further when she recognized its exact source. Ron was seated in front of her, both hands on the controls, eyes intensely focused, and he was humming. It took a few more moments before Kim recognized the familiar strains of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," and before she knew it, lyrics were accompanying the tune.

_"When I was a little lad, t'was only seventeen..._

_The sorriest excuse for a man that you have ever seen..._

_And then the Thunder Eagles came and made a man of me..._

_Now the thunder rolls in me."_

It was a beautiful reconstruction of the time-honored lyrics, Kim had to admit, and she continued to listen in silence as the volume of Ron's voice steadily built…

_"Glory, glory, I'll be screaming through the sky..._

_Glory, glory, I am not afraid to die..._

_Glory, glory, burning bright for all to see..._

_The thunder rolls in me."_

Slowly, other voices began to join in over the open radio frequency, building steadily in their intensity like the wrath of an approaching storm, and an entire chorus soon filled sky…

_"When evil marches forward and the end it seems grows nigh..._

_I shall stand against the darkness and shall spit right in its eye..._

_Bearing justice as my weapon I shall slay it by and by..._

_The thunder rolls in me._

_Glory, glory, I'll be screaming through the sky..._

_Glory, glory, I am not afraid to die..._

_Glory, glory, burning bright for all to see..._

_The thunder rolls in me."_

Kim's heart seemed to soar with the music as nearly 100 voices joined forces, belting forth in perfect harmony, bolstering their collective spirits and steeling themselves for the fight ahead.

_"And through the snow and wind and hail and darkness of the night..._

_I shall always do my duty, always keeping up the fight..._

_Upholding freedom's honor, always doing what is right..._

_The thunder rolls in me._

_Glory, glory, I'll be screaming through the sky..._

_Glory, glory, I am not afraid to die..._

_Glory, glory, burning bright for all to see..._

_The thunder rolls in me._

_And in your darkest hour, you can lay your fears to rest..._

_Bearing peace beneath my wings, your safety always is my quest..._

_Sleep in peace tonight, you are protected by the best..._

_The thunder rolls in me._

_Glory, glory, I'll be screaming through the sky..._

_Glory, glory, I am not afraid to die..._

_Glory, glory, burning bright for all to see..._

_The thunder rolls in me."_

The patriotic splendor could have very well gone on longer, for all that Kim knew, but any further musical ruminations were cut short by a sudden burst of radio chatter.

"Phantasm One to Control One! We've got active radar on scope! Repeat: Active targeting by ground-based defenses! Permission to engage!"

"Roger that, Phantasm One." Came the flat and unemotional reply. "You are clear to engage selected targets. Good luck and good hunting."

"Copy that, control. We have the green light to engage. Okay, boys… Let's light this candle!"

From her position high above and behind the formation, Kim could see the familiar image of the Phantoms roll and break downward toward their targets far below, quickly disappearing into the patch clouds that lay beneath them. From that distance, it looked as though they had simply vanished into thin air, and she suddenly felt struck by the sheer magnitude of what was happening.

Any further philosophizing on the matter was quickly pushed aside, however, when a second burst of radio traffic rudely intruded upon the relative silence of Sky Rat's cockpit.

"Ghost Eye to all units! Repeat: Ghost Eye to all units! Inbound bogeys on your two o'clock. Copy contacts bearing zero-seven-two degrees, angels two, Mach two. Range, two-two-eight nautical miles."

"Sounds like that's the welcoming committee." One of the team commanders observed.

"So we gonna go introduce ourselves to the new neighbors, then?"

"Affirmative! My mother always did tell me to be neighborly." The same voice responded. "Just remember to positively identify your targets. We need to know what we're up against here, and we can't risk any civilian casualties."

"Roger that."

"Okay then… All teams… status report… go or no-go!"

"Rapier flight, GO!"

"Bolo flight, GO!"

"Cutlass flight, GO!"

Ron momentarily paused to take a quick glance over his shoulder at the three other Tomcats of his team.

"Saber flight, GO!"

"All right then… Confirm we are 'go' for engagement! Let's show 'em what we're made of, boys!"

And at that command, 16 aircraft turned in unison, steering an intercept course with the anonymous blips on their radarscopes.

"Talk to me, K.P." Ron said as he completed his turn. "What have we got out there?"

"Looks like two dozen individual aircraft." Kim informed, her slender fingers deftly racing over the controls before her. The newly-installed AESA radar system was a quantum leap beyond the older, mechanically-scanned model, possessing the ability to actively track almost a hundred separate contacts, and at far greater ranges and resolutions that had been previously possible. "The signals are week, so these things have a low radar cross-section, but they're there."

"Okay, then. Let's get this ship ready to fight!" Ron responded, quickly reaching to the flat-panel touch screens before him and switching his own radar display from vertical-scan to bore-sight mode. Instantly, the configuration of several key video displays changed, as did the graphics being projected onto the heads-up display in the Tomcat's windscreen.

His own view changed at this moment as well, as the newly-installed helmet-mounted display flickered to life, projecting a variety of navigational and targeting data directly onto the visor of his flight helmet. This little bit of technology would make life considerably easier in the future, as its use meant that targeting another plane would no longer require turning his own. He could now lock onto a target simply by turning his head and looking at it.

"One minute to visual range." Kim called out.

"Roger that. You ready for this, K.P?"

Kim swallowed hard. Sure, she had flown with Ron on several occasions by this point, but this was her first time riding with him into actual combat. It was virgin territory for her, and it gave her a distinct sense of unease. Even with all of the training and instruction she had gone through since the day she agreed to become Ron's RIO, there was something about strapping in and flying into battle for the first time that put her on edge.

She supposed that it was the same for every soldier stepping onto his first battlefield. It was certainly the same when she accepted her first mission, she recalled. Standing before the imposing gates of the Paisley estate, the butterflies in her stomach had been so bad that it was as if she had swallowed a caterpillar farm. The instinct to turn and run had been almost irresistible, but it had been ultimately overcome by one simple fact: The fact that Ron was right there beside her.

And it was this thought that suddenly snapped her mind back to the situation at hand. Ron had been there for her on that night so long ago, and although neither of them would have ever suspected as much at the time, his actions had served to set them both on the life-path leading to the point where they now found themselves. Ron had helped her to become a warrior that night, and now he needed her to do the same for him.

…And it would be a cold day in Hell before she would ever let him down.

"Ready!" she replied emphatically. "Let's make some turbulence!"

Screaming into the merge at a combined 1,300 miles per hour, it wasn't but a few seconds before the opposing force came into view on the horizon. A few thousand feet below and climbing steadily, the outline of their delta wings and canard-style elevators was clearly visible against the blanket of brilliant white clouds beneath them. Ron sharply rolled Sky Rat 40 degrees onto its left side for a better visual on his opponents, then made a snap decision.

"Saber One to all units. We're gonna break right and sweep around their flank. With any luck, we should be able to roll these dudes up like a carpet." He said matter-of-factly.

"Affirmative, Saber One. Good luck." Came the reply.

With a swift kick of the rudders and a twitch of the stick, Ron sent Sky Rat into a sharp right-hand turn, allowing the other three planes of his team to follow closely behind. Swinging wide to the right, both teens could see the two formations close the range and merge together, briefly passing before turning into one another to initiate combat. Planes twisted and climbed, violently mixing together into a roiling furball, and all the while with frantic radio chatter filling the airwaves.

"_Rapier Three, check you six! You've got one behind you!"_

"_Check off! Check off! I've got one dead ahead and closing fast!"_

"_Roger that! Taking him on the left… I'm going around!"_

_"Fox three! One away!"_

"_Yeah, BABY! Splash one for the good guys!"_

"_Look alive, Bolo flight! We've got two inbound, four o'clock high!"_

_"I'm on it! Just keep heat off me, boys!""What the heck are these things, anyway? Eurofighters?"_

"_Negative, number two. Check the fuel tubes."_

"French aviation… Gotta love it." Ron remarked as he carefully observed the escalating fight. Not yet involved in the ruckus himself, he would wait for the right moment to commit his team to action. If he played his cards right, he surmised, the enemy would never know what hit them.

"Dassault does have a history of top-notch design work." He added, thinking back to the aircraft identification course he took during his flight school days.

"Yeah, that's the French for you." Kim replied. "Experts at building weapons for the world, but totally clueless when it comes to using them themselves."

"Oh c'mon, K.P. I'm sure the French military isn't _that_ bad."

"Okay then, so what was the last war that they _won?"_

"Well, let's see… Hmmmmm… Ummm… There was the French Revolution."

"Doesn't count when you're fighting yourself."

"Napoleon?"

"Initial success… Followed by getting his imperial butt kicked."

"World War Two?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Oh, well then I've got nothing."

"Exactly! Point for me."

"I didn't realize we were keeping score."

"We're always keeping score, Ron." Kim smugly smiled.

"Yeah, whatever." Ron groused before quickly screwing on his game face. "Now hold on tight 'cause we're going in. Saber flight, on me!"

And with that command, he broke hard left and dove into the unfolding fight at break-neck speed.

Releasing the turn, Ron rolled his bird back onto a level plane and dropped the nose slightly into a shallow dive. A lightning-quick glance confirmed that his team was still in position, and ready for the attack. Another glance to the front revealed several enemy planes scattered over a wide area, somewhat removed from the main body of the fight.

"Tempest, you and Rebel break right." Ron called out to his second-in-command. "Splinter and I will go left. Try to sow as much confusion as you can. Splinter, watch my back."

"You got it, Commander." Ron's ever-faithful wingman replied.

"Then let's take it to 'em!" Ron cried out. "Tally _HO!"_

Screaming downward at Mach 0.75, Ron quickly singled out a lone Rafale that had become separated from its wingman. As he attacked from behind and to his target's right, the enemy pilot realized his predicament and broke hard across Ron's path, trying to force an overshoot. Ron was having none of that, however, as he calmly dropped flaps and followed the turn, the aerodynamic effect of the flaps helping to both decelerate his speed and sharpen his turning radius.

Falling in a half-mile behind his target, he wasn't quite within gun range, but was more than close enough to fire one of his AIM-9X Sidewinder missiles. It was a thought that gave him a mental case of the "warm-fuzzies."

An updated version of the classic Sidewinder, the AIM-9X was light years ahead of the venerable weapon that had been in active service since the early days of Vietnam. With jet-vane controls, it was far more agile than previous models that relied on adjustable tail fins for steering. Also, there were advanced counter-countermeasures built right in, allowing the weapon's integrated "brain" to distinguish between an aircraft's exhaust, and the magnesium flares normally deployed by a targeted craft as thermal decoys. It featured an improved cooling system for the onboard electronics, the ability to lock targets up to 60-degrees off of bore-sight-center, and enjoyed a "lock-on after launch" capability. Overall, this missile could go farther, faster, turn tighter and hit harder than any of its previous incarnations. It defined the state of the art.

Holding his firing position behind the seemingly hapless Rafale, Ron was momentarily caught off guard when the enemy pilot suddenly broke back toward his left. He quickly followed suit, but soon found himself out of position, too far to the inside for a shot. He silently cursed himself, realizing that his target was too far off of his bore-sight for a traditional lock, and that the nose of his own plane obscured the target enough to prevent a lock with the helmet-mounted systems.

But none of that meant he was out of the game, of course.

Throwing the stick hard against his right knee, Ron pitched Sky Rat over into a barrel roll. In a split second, he was back in position, directly on his enemy's six; the low electronic growl of the targeting computer confirming that he was locked and loaded. He squeezed the trigger.

"Fox two!" He called out, signaling that a heat-seeking missile was in the air.

With his onboard computers alerting him to the launch, the Rafale pilot punched flares and pulled up sharp, performing exactly as countless hours of training had conditioned him to do. Such drastic actions were to no avail, however: When it came to next-generation weaponry, the old rules were simply no longer sufficient.

With its integrated computer logic disregarding the flares, the Sidewinder's revolutionary flight-control system easily held the turn and the missile tore into the Rafale's left wing like a razor slicing through tissue paper. Mortally wounded, the Rafale shuddered and pitched over into a death roll. There was a momentary flash of light as the pilot punched out, with pilot, plane and canopy all going in separate directions before disappearing into the clouds below.

"Splash one!" Ron called out. "Repeat… one bandit down!"

"Good kill, Ron! Good kill!" Kim commended from the back seat. "Now let's keep our heads in the game. There's a lot more of them out there."

Almost as if to drive the point home, Sky Rat's sensors chose that exact moment to screech out a high-pitched warning.

"We're being targeted!" Kim shouted, her fingers racing across her station's controls, desperately trying to identify their attacker. "He's behind us and moving in for a lock!"

Shooting a glance to his right, Ron confirmed that his wingman was still at his appointed station. The next words from his mouth flowed nearly without conscious thought.

"Thatch weave!" he shouted into his microphone.

In one fluid motion, the two Tomcats turned into each other and began to swing back and forth through a series of lazy "S" turns, repeatedly crossing each other's paths. On the surface the maneuver may have looked like two planes out for a leisurely Sunday hop, but in reality the move was as serious as aerial combat tactics come.

The "Thatch-Weave" had been around since the early days of World War Two, after all. Invented by a pilot of the American Navy, the maneuver allowed two aircraft to cover one another by repeatedly crossing each other's flight paths. If an enemy dropped onto the tail of one pilot, his partner could easily fall onto the enemy's tail and either drive him off or dispatch with the annoying little pest entirely.

And just as it had over the crystal blue waters of the Pacific Ocean nearly 60 years before, the maneuver worked like a charm. The mutual coverage that the Tomcats afforded each other was more than sufficient to frustrate their adversary's aim.

After several seconds of futility, the Rafale decided to cut bait and retreat, rather than risk having a _third_ Tomcat crash the party and make his life considerably more difficult. Ron's muscles tensed as he prepared to wheel Sky Rat around and pursue this would-be attacker, the aggressive spirit of a fighter pilot quickly taking hold of his actions. He was just about to bank hard when Kim's voice redirected his attention elsewhere.

"Check it out! Down there!" she frantically shouted.

"Down where?" Ron inquired, equally frantically.

"Down _there!"_ Kim clarified, pointing wildly. "Ten o'clock low and coming across!"

Rolling Sky Rat slightly for a better view, Ron quickly recognized what had caught his girlfriend's attention. A blue-nosed Hornet was streaking across the sky below them, a lone Rafale hot on its tail. It didn't take a decorated pilot to realize the predicament of the Hornet, or the advantageous position of the Rafale.

Reacting reflexively to the sight of a fellow Eagle in trouble, Ron instantly forgot all about the enemy plane he had just been about to pursue. Jamming the stick hard left, he kicked rudder and pulled back, rolling over into a screaming, inverted dive. A high-pitched mechanical whir could be heard throughout the cockpit as the Tomcat's wings swept back at the sudden increase of speed, and moments later the entire airframe shuddered with the resounding rapport of a sonic boom as Sky Rat passed Mach one.

Rolling back into an upright position, Ron took careful note of the relative positions of all the planes involved. He was approaching his target at an extremely sharp angle, forcing him into a high angle of deflection. He was too close for missiles by this point, and the Tomcat's gun sight that normally compensated for such variables was ineffective at such extreme angles of approach. He would have to line the shot up himself, gauging the complex relationship of speed, range and deflection through simple guesswork and dead reckoning. Adjusting his bank and pulling up lightly on the stick, Ron allowed plenty of lead, figuring that even if he missed his mark, the sight of tracers streaking across his nose would be enough to force the enemy pilot into reconsidering his course of action.

Screaming down onto his prey at Mach 1.2, he made one final adjustment and pulled the trigger. For the first time, dual GAU-22 Gatling guns roared to life, producing an ominous growl as they unleashed a hailstorm of 25-millimeter shells. Twin braids of fire burst forth from the corners of Sky Rat's "shark mouth" insignia as the guns belched out ammunition to the tune of over 6,000 combined rounds per minute, throwing a veritable wall of lead toward their unsuspecting target.

In this modern age of fourth-generation fighter jets, aerial gunnery can be a difficult task even under the best of conditions. Factor in super-sonic speeds and high deflections, and hitting one's mark becomes more a condition of pure luck than anything else. Such was the case for Ron this day, as his burst narrowly missed the targeted Rafale, zipping harmlessly in front of his intended victim.

But that's not to say that the move had been any less effective, however. Clearly rattled by the sudden appearance of white-hot projectiles streaking past his canopy, the Rafale's pilot quickly broke off his attack and pulled up, breaking hard right as he went. The sudden turn, combined with the speed from Ron's dive, forced Sky Rat into an overshoot, and the teenaged pair looked up in unison to see the belly of the French fighter streak past their own canopy before receding in the distance behind them.

Rather than try and mimic the Rafale's turn, Ron chose to continue his dive, accelerating even further past the sound barrier. Any attempt to turn now, he figured, would only cost him speed and allow the slower Rafale to play catch-up. If he could just keep his nose down for a few more seconds, he would open the range to a point where his adversary would be far too far away to do anything. Then, he could turn back into the fight and re-engage on his own terms.

It was Kim's angelic voice that once again redirected his attentions to more urgent matters.

"Two inbound! Twelve o'clock level and closing fast!"

Of course angels normally didn't have such a propensity toward yelling.

Taking stock of the situation, Ron once again confirmed that his wingman was in position, flying slightly behind and about a quarter-mile to his right: A classic combat-spread formation.

"What's the enemy formation look like, Red Fox?" he inquired, using Kim's assigned code name.

"A straight daisy chain, Mad Dog." Kim snappily replied. "It's one right behind the other."

"Okay then, here's how were gonna play this." Ron quickly decided. "We're gonna take these gnat-brains right between us, then run a cross-turn straight into them. You ready to rock 'n roll, Splinter?"

"Born ready, sir!" His wingman nearly shouted in response.

"Glad to hear it."

Moments later, a dark streak tore through the space between the two Tomcats. Ordinarily, a pilot in Ron's position would have broke hard into the intruder and initiated an attack. But in this case, however, Ron knew better. Thanks to Kim's keen eye and proficiency with the Tomcat's sophisticated radar systems, he knew that the target presented by this Rafale was a trap. Turning onto its tail would only serve to expose his own tail to the second jet, which was by now rocketing past him at incredible speed.

"Break now!" Ron shouted as the booming roar of the Rafale thundered past them.

Pitching up in perfect unison, the two Tomcats climbed briefly before turning toward each other and executing a coordinated pair of "U-turns," with Ron passing slightly above his wingman. Concluding the maneuver with a shallow dive to regain their lost airspeed, they were both soon hot on the tails of the two bandits.

Realizing their predicament, the Rafales now split up, with one breaking hard left while the other pulled up sharply and climbed vertically away. It was time to make a decision.

"You take the one on the right!" Ron called to his wingman. "I'll take straight-up Susie here!"

Firewalling the throttle, Ron buried the control stick deep into his gut. Over 60,000 pounds of thrust responded, sending the duo surging toward the stratosphere. They both struggled for breath as the force of seven Gs pressed them back into their seats with crushing intensity. Then, the world flipped upside-down as the Rafale rolled inverted and dove for the deck with Ron following suit.

Pulling out of the dive, the Rafale immediately went into a hard left-hand turn. Being smaller and more nimble than the Tomcat, the delta-winged craft was soon slipping to the inside, gaining the advantage of position.

To counter this, Ron quickly transitioned into a maneuver known as a "high yo-yo." A tactic perfected by aviators of the early jet age, the yo-yo allowed a pilot to cut a tighter turn by breaking to the inside and diving slightly, then pulling up, essentially tilting the arc of the turn onto its edge. In this way he was able to hold tight with the Rafale, to spite its superior agility.

Then, in a split second, the situation changed. As Ron plunged Sky Rat into yet another yo-yo, the Rafale pulled straight up. Ron tried desperately to follow, but with the speed of the dive pushing him forward, simple physics dictated that he would slide past his adversary, and into the position of "prey."

In an instant, the Rafale was on his six, well within missile range and perfectly positioned for a shot. Words were echoing in his ear almost before Kim had even shouted them.

"Incoming!" was her one-word warning.

"Pickle flares! And the chaff!" Ron responded, initiating evasive maneuvers.

"Already on it!" Kim informed. Her hands deftly raced across the controls, activating Sky Rat's various defensive countermeasures. In an instant, her mind flashed back to the briefing they had received that morning, and the words of Commander Argus…

_"At this time, we believe the enemy to be in possession of AA-11 Archer heat seeking missiles, although we believe these to be the older R-73 variant with the associated reduced range. Also, we do not believe that these weapons possess the helmet-mounted targeting capability or advanced counter-countermeasures of the frontline AA-11 models."_

The last line about counter-countermeasures rang in her ears, and she silently prayed that the G.J. intelligence services were correct in their assessment. If they weren't, then she and Ron were both as good as char-broiled.

As the distinctive popping sound of the flares resonated behind them, Ron rolled and broke hard right, once again plastering the two of them to their seats. He held the turn for several excruciating seconds before finally relenting as the shriek of the missile could be heard screaming past them.

"Nice save Ron, but he's still back there!" Kim shouted, pivoting in her harness to look behind them, the intense maneuvering of the plane repeatedly slamming her against the sides of the cockpit. "He's right between our tails!"

"Okay, then… Hang onto your lunch!" Ron replied. "This ride is about to become 'E-ticket rated!'"

Gunning the throttle to the max, Ron pulled up sharp and climbed steeply away from his pursuer. Then, in a single, swift motion, he dropped his left hand from the throttle down to the black-and-yellow striped "air brake" handle and pulled hard. Butterfly flaps between Sky Rat's twin tails suddenly snapped open, causing a burst of deceleration that threw both teens forcefully forward into their harnesses.

Seconds seemed to tick by like hours as Sky Rat continued to slow, plunging its precious air speed dangerously close to a stall. A telltale shudder could be felt through the airframe as their speed dropped even further, but it was quickly followed by another sensation: A rumbling sensation of incredible power.

As their speed plummeted to nearly zero, Ron increased throttle and held tight, maintaining control and effectively suspending the massive interceptor in mid-air.

Kim didn't need to be told what this was. It was the same maneuver Ron had pulled with the unidentified craft in Europe while the pair had been on their way to confront Drakken in his underground salt lair. "Pugachev's Cobra," as the maneuver was known, had already served them well once before, and now as the roar of the Rafale's twin engines could be heard passing beneath them, she knew that it had served them well once again.

Hanging there, suspended between heaven and earth, Ron paused a moment for their enemy to completely pass, then flipped his nose downward. Ordinarily, such a maneuver by an F-14 would be quite impossible, but with the thrust-vectoring system installed by the Eagles during Sky Rat's most recent overhaul, it was something easily executed. Soon the two teens were screaming into a headlong plunge, the form of their capable adversary squarely framed in the center of the windscreen.

Now, with his latest effort thwarted, it was the Rafale's move once again. The enemy pilot didn't disappoint in this regard, quickly throwing his plane into a screaming dive that sent both aircraft hurling toward the earth far below.

As the deep-blue tones of the ocean rapidly rushed up to meet them, both aircraft pulled out of their respective dives, transitioning into level flight at a point less than 1,000 feet above the waves. The Rafale then dipped its nose again, enticing Ron to follow, before pulling up to force yet another overshoot.

Ron quickly elevated his own nose, using the same trick to stay behind his enemy. The Rafale's response was to dive once again, attempting the same trick, this time apparently hoping for improved results.

And so it went, the two fighters quickly falling into a high-speed diving and climbing pattern, pitching up to reduce speed and force and overshoot, then plunging downward to regain lost speed and hopefully fall onto their opponent's tail. It was a maneuver known as the rolling scissors, and it had held a place of prominence in every flight-training manual since World War One.

"Would you stop waving goodbye, already? I'm getting seasick back here!" Kim panned from the rear seat as the intense maneuvering dragged on. Dogfights, as she understood them, tended to be brief and intense. And while the current exchange would definitely qualify as "intense," "brief" was an adjective that was becoming less and less befitting of the situation.

"Well don't tell me! Tell _HIM!"_ Ron shouted back, pointing to indicate the current object of his attentions. "He's the one with the repressed childhood _see-saw_ issues!"

As the two planes continued their deadly dance, one of the region's many small islands began to loom large on the horizon. With emerald green slopes and rugged, wave-battered cliffs rising prominently from the churning ocean surf, it steadily grew, changing from a hazy, indistinct mass in the distance to a monolithic edifice that filled their respective windscreens.

Making a break to the left, the Rafale dove hard and accelerated toward the island's towering vestige, enticing Ron to follow suit. Soon, both aircraft were through the sound barrier once again, tearing two rooster tails through the sea as they screamed along at near wave-top level.

Then they were upon it, roaring over pristine beaches and into the island's interior, both planes darting back and forth, roaring through deep canyons and cresting over mountain ridges with only feet to spare. They dodged and weaved, flowing down rugged, jungle ravines like a shimmering metallic river, screaming up nearly vertical mountainsides, then rolling inverted before plunging into the tree-studded valleys once again. It was an elaborate game of cat and mouse, played out at supersonic speed across a battlefield of deep greens and even deeper blues.

Ron and Kim both grunted and strained against the force of eight Gs as Ron pulled an especially hard turn, placing himself onto the Rafale's six. The Rafael's pilot didn't hesitate to respond, executing a maneuver that left both teens stunned to the point of speechlessness: He snap-rolled.

Ordinarily, a snap roll is a perfectly acceptable evasive maneuver. Allowing a pilot to both dodge an attack and quickly reduce speed simultaneously, it brings with it the ability to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone.

But when executed at low altitude, however, such a maneuver constituted legal insanity. With no room to recover from the violent rotation and sudden drop in altitude, any pilot foolish enough to attempt such a feat in this situation would qualify as either crazy, suicidal, or both.

But snap roll was exactly what this pilot now did, and the unexpected move shocked Ron so badly that before he could so much as think about it, he had reflexively followed suit, imitating the exact same maneuver with all of the reckless disregard that accompanied it.

"What the heck was that?" Kim managed to shout, once her own shock at Ron's actions had worn off.

"Sorry! Knee-jerk reaction!" he replied. Still focusing all of his attention on his quarry. While the Rafale's maneuver had failed to give him the slip, it had managed to force Ron in much closer to his target than he was ordinarily comfortable with. By this point, Sky Rat was only ten yards behind the Rafale, so close in fact that the Tomcat's entire airframe was now being buffeted by jet wash from the Rafale's two high-performance engines.

They were close at this point: Close enough to make out individual details on their adversary's aircraft. The graceful, triangle-shape of the delta wings with their 53-degree sweep pointing perfectly forward to the curved nose flanked by canard-style elevators… The elegantly swept vertical stabilizer… The awkwardly angled refueling tube… The missiles that it carried on its wing tips… The way the entire assembly was painted in an eye-popping scheme of coal mine black with purple trim that vaguely resembled the power suit favored by their corporate owner and master. It was actually a rather beautiful machine. It was a shame that it had to be destroyed.

Making a quick juke to the left to escape the turbulent jet wash, Ron was shocked once more as the Rafale executed another snap roll, tempting fate and the Gods yet again.

But this time, Ron was ready…

Ignoring the instinct to play "follow-the-leader" with this thrill-seeking nut case, he instead pulled up ever so slightly, juked back to the right, and settled his nose back down. By the time that the flight-level indicator returned to "zero-pitch" moments later, the Rafale was pegged squarely in the dead center of his gun sight, the piper directly over the middle of its fuselage.

"_Game over, punk."_ Ron muttered to himself as his finger tensed around the trigger.

Once again, Sky Rat resounded with the vibrations of dual GAU-22s unleashing their full fury upon their hapless victim. Caught squarely by the onslaught, the Rafale instantaneously burst into flames, flipped over, and disappeared into the dense jungle landscape below. A half-second later the jungle came alive as a brilliant fireball erupted from the forest canopy, billowing upward with massive columns of black smoke and orange flame, and rolling forward in a torrent of fire and flaming debris.

"Booyah! Splash two for the good guys!" Ron jubilantly shouted as he wheeled Sky Rat around and began climbing back toward his assigned patrol altitude. "Saber One reports two down and requests mission status report."

"Copy that, Saber One." The reply crackled over the open com-link. "Attack units report all targets neutralized. Remaining enemy aircraft retreating toward the west. Ghost Eye reports clear skies all along extraction path. You are confirmed R.T.B."

"Roger that." Ron replied in turn. "We are clear of bandits and returning to base. Will update if situation changes."

"Roger, Saber One. Over and out."

"Saber One out."

Once the communication link was closed, Ron pivoted awkwardly in his harness, shooting a glance back toward the auburn-haired beauty seated behind him.

"You okay back there, Red Fox?" he inquired, more than a tint of loving concern evident in his voice.

"Never better, Mad Dog." Kim replied, pulling down her oxygen mask to beam a radiant smile in his direction.

"So tell me… Was your first real combat mission all that you thought it would be?"

"Well it was certainly up there in the wild-ride department," she answered, "but overall I'm still sitting pretty."

"Aren't you always?"

"Please Ron," Kim sighed before leaning forward with a sultry grin spreading quickly across her face…

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Wha… (Cough) Whoa there, KP! Uh… Safety first, now. (Cough)" Ron stammered in response.

"Why? What do you mean?" Kim asked, perplexed.

"Visibility, Kimbo. You're steaming up my visor."

"Oh right, sorry." Kim smiled as she settled back into her seat, satisfied that her goal had been accomplished.

It was then that the roar of another aircraft drew the two teens' attention to their right, as Ron's wingman retook his position along Sky Rat's side.

"Hey! Good kill down there on the deck, Mad Dog!" Splinter chimed in. "Nice to see you're not afraid to grapple in the dirt."

"Meh… Just doin' that voodoo that I do." Ron dismissed with a shrug. The show of humility seemed genuine enough, but Kim could tell that on the inside, Ron was positively beaming.

"Say, how fast were you going when you took the shot?" Splinter inquired.

"Dunno, really." Ron replied with a shrug. "About Mach one point one five, I suppose. Why?"

"Dude! That's a supersonic gun kill!"

"Yeah… So?"

"Jeez, Mad Dog! You're only the second person to ever do that!"

"Really?"

"Really!"

"Wow!"

"This is what I'm saying."

And with that thought running through their minds, the team pointed their planes toward the blip on their GPS maps labeled as "Point Recall," and settled in for the long flight home.

* * *

The remainder of their mission had been the definition of routine. They had rendezvoused with a tanker and taken fuel, returned to the carrier and caught a wire, gone through the customary debriefing and shared a satisfying dinner in the main galley. Then, after some much needed decompression, it was time for a few hours sleep before they took to the air once more, this time heading for the mountainous regions of northern Japan.

But to spite the exertions of the day's activities, Kim found sleep to be elusive this night. She lay awake, tucked snugly against Ron's side, the rhythmic cadence of his breathing echoing softly and reassuringly in her ears. Ordinarily, such circumstances would have almost instantly lulled her into sleep's warm embrace, any and all worries being erased from her mind by Ron's ever-vigilant presence. But this sitch was different, however: There was something troubling her psyche that Ron's mere presence was insufficient to address. Only talking with him could do that.

"Ronnie… Sweetie?" she whispered into the darkness of the small cabin.

"Hmm-mmmm." Ron mumbled in response.

"Just to make sure… How many did we get today?"

"Two, unless my math is off." Ron's half-awake form softly responded.

To be truthful, Kim had already known the answer to that question, just as she did to the question she was about to ask. But still, something deep inside of her needed to confirm the reality of the situation.

"And how many chutes did you count?"

Although the darkness of the room made it nearly impossible to see, Ron chanced a thoughtful glance down at the lithe form that lay nestled beside him. He already knew where this conversation was going, and in all honesty he had been expecting it for some time.

"One." He answered softly, resignedly dropping his head back onto his pillow and maneuvering his arm to pull his girlfriend a little closer: A gesture that Kim gratefully accepted.

"So we…?"

"Yeah."

For the longest moment, silence reigned throughout the room, the only perceptible sounds being those of the ships ventilation system, and of Rufus, softly snoring from his makeshift nest on the writing desk in the corner. There was profound meaning in the few words that had just been spoken, and Kim found herself taking moment to compose her thoughts before continuing.

"So… so what do we do now?" she asked with a light sniffle.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean how are we supposed to deal with this?"

"Well it's not easy at first." Ron morosely admitted. "It'll be a real shock to your system for a while, but eventually you'll learn to make your peace with it. Just trust me when I say that it'll get easier over time."

"You're sure about that?"

"Absolutely."

"Serious?"

"Dead serious."

With these words, Kim silently settled her head back down onto her boyfriend's chest and heaved a heavy sigh. Ron certainly seemed sure of what he was saying, and that she'd eventually find a way of dealing with this new knowledge that she was now forced to carry. She supposed he was right, after all: That time really did heal all wounds. However that left one entirely new question to be answered.

"Ron?"

"Yeah."

"How is it that you know so much about this sitch?"

At this question, Ron glanced downward once again. He quickly found that even in the nearly lightless confines of the stateroom, he could clearly see the two green orbs that were now boring into him, searching for an answer whose nature they could not fathom.

"Ahhhhh…" Ron stammered.

"Ron!" Kim growled, a little more forcefully than she would have liked.

"Alright! Alright! Here's the scoop!" Ron relented. "You remember the 'Philippines Incident,' don't you?"

"How could I ever forget?" Kim wistfully replied. That day, after all, had been one of the most adventurous days in a young life filled with adventure.

On that day… that glorious day… Ron had literally flown back into her life. After three anguish-filled months of desperately missing him and fearing the worst for his safety, and with her entire family facing eminent destruction at the hands of Drakken's make-shift air force, he had come charging down from the heavens like a guardian angel, launching himself headlong into the fray like a mythical knight in shining armor. He had shown skill and bravery that went beyond all ability of words to describe them, and had succeeded in either driving off or destroying all those who dared threaten either Kim or her loved ones.

And then, for the coup de gras, he had bested none other than Shego herself in a one-on-one dogfight to the finish. He had proven himself to be the complete package that day, elevating his game and himself to levels that no one, not even Kim, had ever dreamed him capable of.

And now the events of that day had suddenly taken on a more ominous tone.

"So what about it?" Kim hesitantly inquired, battling back against the sinking suspicion that she wasn't going to like the answer.

"You know how many I got, right?" Ron asked, his tone suddenly turning much more subdued.

"Well, there were twelve starting out." Kim thought aloud. "Half of them bounced, so that leaves six in the drink. When you add in Shego, that makes it a lucky seven."

"Exactly." Ron informed her. "And how many chutes did you see?"

"Honestly, I was too busy keeping my lunch from making an encore appearance to be counting parachutes." Kim sarcastically replied. "I know Shego punched out successfully, but I guess I just didn't think much about the others."

A sudden realization now swept over her, and a small bulb in the back of her mind flared to life as she recognized where Ron was going with all of this.

"How… How many were there?" she shakily asked, already dreading whatever the answer would be.

"Besides Shego?" Ron clarified.

"Yeah."

"Three."

"So the other three were…?"

"Yeah."

Kim instinctively shuddered and pulled herself closer into the warmth of Ron's body. The Philippines Incident had always been such a joyous event in her mind, but now it seemed forever tainted: Tainted with the blood of those men who had perished in the clear, thin air of the South Pacific skies.

"So you've actually taken a… I mean… You've…" Somehow, she just couldn't bring herself to say the word, as if by not speaking of it specifically, then it somehow would never be real. It was a rare sitch where her vocabulary failed her in such a way, and she suddenly found herself fumbling for something… anything… to say.

"How did this happen?" Kim asked, her voice somewhere between a squeak and a whisper. It was probably the stupidest question imaginable, she would later admit, but at the moment it was the only coherent thought that she could form.

"Well those weren't spitballs that we were shooting at each other up there." Ron dryly observed. He took a deep breath and sighed deeply, allowing Kim's head to rise and fall with his chest. This was perhaps the most difficult question she could pose right now, so much so that it bordered on rhetorical. However, even a dim bulb such as him self could sense the anguish in his girlfriends words, and he owed it to her to at least attempt a meaningful answer.

"I don't claim to have all the answers, Kim." He started out by saying. "All I know is what they taught me in leadership training." He paused thoughtfully before continuing.

"One of the things they taught us is that to spite what the proverb may say, there are in fact certain rules when it comes to war. Rule number one is that when you're in a war, young men die."

"And rule number two?" Kim hesitantly asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"That there's nothing anyone can do to change rule number one." Ron replied with yet another sigh.

"So you think of this… this thing we do… as a war?" Kim inquired, trying to grasp some insight into Ron's thought process regarding this aspect of his activities.

"I thought that much would be obvious, K.P." Ron replied matter-of-factly. "Ordinarily we just drop into the bad guy's lair, bust up the plot and hold the dudes until the local authorities show up. We're basically arresting people: Like a police action of some sort."

"But this," Ron continued, "this is different. The Eagles were created to deal with criminals that operate beyond the scope of regular law enforcement. These are the sorts of people whom you don't just drop in and slap the cuffs on. They're much bigger than that: We have to take them down hard, and we have to make it hurt."

"And you're okay with all of this?" Kim asked, an incredulous tone running strong within her voice.

"Hey! I never said that I was okay with any of it." Ron replied defensively. "I'm just saying that I've accepted the reality of the sitch, and that I've come to some sort of mental understanding. It doesn't do anyone any good if I go off getting all bent out of shape about things I can't change, now does it?"

"No, I guess it doesn't." Kim replied, a hint of melancholy still evident. "It all just seems so ferociously whacked, you know?"

"Yeah, I know K.P. I know." Ron sighed, reaching up with his free hand to massage the bridge of his nose. "But I think some of it goes back to what you said to me in the tree house that night before the prom."

"What? That we'll always be tight?" Kim inquired, clearly perplexed by this sudden turn in the conversation.

"No. The other thing." Ron clarified.

"What other thing?"

"The thing about it being time to grow up?"

"Oh, that other thing. What's that got to do with us in the here and now?"

"It illustrates my point, K.P." Ron explained. "Up until recently, our whole 'save-the-world' thing has been a pretty black-and-white type of operation. We know who the bad guys are, we know where they are, we go in and we get them. The good guys win, justice is served, and nobody gets hurt."

"Yeah. So?"

"So I'm saying that things are different now." Ron continued to explain. "Like it or not, we're both becoming adults, and in the adult world things are a lot less clear-cut, both in terms of crime-fighting and, well, everything for that matter."

"So you're saying that we're not in Kansas anymore."

"I'm saying that in this game, good and evil aren't as clearly defined. Bad guys can have redeeming qualities, good guys can carry a dark streak buried deep within them, and people sometimes die, on both sides of the equation, both good and bad."

Ron heaved an exasperated sigh as he finished his last sentence. This was something that he obviously felt very strongly about, and had undoubtedly spent a great many hours thinking about.

"Wow, Ron." Kim observed. "How did you ever get so deep about these things?"

"Lots of sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling and sorting stuff out." Ron admitted, his voice clearly etched with concern for the topic.

"It really keeps you awake at night?" Kim asked concernedly.

"Sometimes it does, yeah." He replied, his voice suddenly growing weary. "But what about you? Are you gonna be okay with all of this?"

"Yeah, I'll be all right." Kim responded after a long, thoughtful pause. "I think I'm kind of like you, though. I'll probably learn to accept it, eventually, but I don't think I'll ever be okay with it."

"That's my girl." Ron replied with a smile, leaning down to gently kiss the top of Kim's head. "I'd never expect anything less from you. Now what say we grab about forty winks?"

"Works for me." Kim answered, snuggling herself once again into Ron's warm embrace.

"Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

And with that, the veil of blissful slumber finally descended over both of them.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Forty-two pages! Like, WOW, man! Sometimes, when I get on a roll with these chapters, I just have a hard time knowing when to quit. _Somebody, stop me! Stop me before I write again!_

A special note regarding the previous chapter: I have personally reviewed all of the comments that were sent regarding Chapter Six, and I would now like to say one thing…

I take back everything I said: Neil Diamond is GOD! Now PLEASE, just put down the torches and pitchforks, and calmly back away!

I apparently had not realized what a loyal fan base Mr. Diamond enjoys, as my stated comments stirred up an entire hornet's nest worth of wrath. Over the past month, I have had the distinct pleasure of receiving approximately 273 personal messages, all of which have been consolidated and summarized into the following paragraph…

_"You stupid imbecile! Blah, blah, blah… If you had one tenth of Neil's talent… Blah, blah… Greatest musician in the history of ever… Blah, blech blah, blah… Listened to Cracklin' Rosie twenty-seven times, and the next day the cyst was GONE, and the doctor said he had never seen such a rapid recovery… Blah, blah, blahbity-blah…"_

You get the general idea.

So anyway, on to the current chapter!

_Pri-Fly: _The "Primary Flight Control Center" is the air-traffic control tower of an aircraft carrier. Usually positioned high above the flight deck on the rear end of the superstructure, this is the workstation of the carrier's Air Boss and his staff. Together, these men are responsible for regulating and directing the movement of all aircraft, on, above and below the flight deck.

_SAM: _Surface-to-Air Missile. As the name suggests, this is a family of ground-based weapons that are intended to be fired against airborne targets, either fixed-wing or helicopter.

_F-4/G Phantom:_ The most modern variant of the venerable Phantom, the F-4/G was developed specifically to fulfill the "Wild Weasel" roll for the United States Air Force, and proved once again that the Phantom is one of the most adaptable and well-designed airframes ever built. Now while purists will undoubtedly point out that the F-4/G is an Air Force plane, and not equipped for carrier operations, I've chosen to assume for the purposes of this story that the Eagles were able to adapt modifications that made these birds carrier-operable. After all, the original F-4 was a navy airframe… How hard could it really be?

_AGM-88:_ Known as the High-speed Anti-Radiation Missile, (HARM), the AGM-88 has found widespread deployment on a variety of military platforms. Designed as a counter-weapon for integrated air-defense networks, the HARM has the ability to lock onto virtually any source of radar energy. By essentially flying itself down the radar beam, the HARM can destroy air defense installations with pinpoint accuracy, essentially blinding the enemy and greatly reducing his ability to shoot back.

_Grumman A-6 Intruder: _First introduced in 1963 as a replacement for the propeller-driven A-1 Skyraider, the Intruder is twin-engine, mid-wing, medium attack bomber built by Grumman Aerospace. (Builders of the F-14 Tomcat.) Officially retired in 1997, many Intruders still remain in inactive reserve status, should the U.S. Navy experience the need for increased firepower.

_Vought A-7 Corsair II:_ Named for the legendary naval fighter of the Second World War, the A-7 is a single-engine, high-wing tactical strike aircraft employed by the U.S. Navy between 1967 and 1991. Built as a replacement for the aging A-4 Skyhawk, its design was primarily based on the highly successful F-8 Crusader: A move that helped to keep development costs on the project down.

_McDonnell Douglas F-18 Hornet: _Introduced on January 7, 1983, the Hornet is an all-weather, multi-role strike fighter still in use by the United States Navy and Marine Corps. Originally designed as part of a competition sponsored by the United States Air Force, the Hornet, (then known as the YF-17 Cobra), was nearly relegated to the scrap heap of aviation history when the USAF awarded its contract to Lockheed-Martin, and its design of the F-16 Fighting Falcon. The Navy, however, had been closely following the competition between the two designs, and having been duly impressed by the performance of the YF-17 prototype, placed an order for several airframes. The rest, as they say, is history.

_Grumman E-2 Hawkeye:_ A carrier-based airborne early-warning system, the Hawkeye is easily distinguishable by the large, dish-shaped radar array that it carries atop its fuselage. Known to many as the "Hummer" because of the distinctive sound of its twin turboprop engines, the Hawkeye is forecast to remain in service with the United States Navy well into the foreseeable future.

_Lockheed S-3 Viking: _Known as the "Hoover" because its twin turbojet engines are said to sound like a vacuum cleaner, the Viking was originally developed as an anti-submarine aircraft known as the ES-3A Shadow. Designed to replace the propeller-driven Grumman S-2 Tracker, the U.S. Navy soon realized the need for a carrier-capable in-flight refueling tanker within their inventory, and the ES-3A seemed to fit most of the performance criteria. Several airframes were modified for testing, and when the results proved positive, the Viking was born.

Still in service today, the S-3 is forecast to be replaced sometime in 2009 by an in-flight refueling variant of the F-18 Hornet.

_Squadron Designations:_ It may seem like a bowl of alphabet soup, but there's actually a method to the madness of this designation system. For the purposes of this story, I've chosen to use the same system adopted by the United States Navy, owing primarily to the fact it's pre-established, and actually quite simple once you understand it.

First off, all navy squadrons carry a designation starting with the letter "V." (I'm not aware of any reason behind the choice of this letter, but I suppose it's as good as any of them. They had 26 to choose from and they picked one!) Squadrons of the Marine Corps, (technically, a department of the navy), are designated by the prefix "VM."

Now, following the designator for the military branch, there will be either one or two letters indicating the specific function of the squadron in question. Fighter squadrons, as one would expect, carry the designation of "F" in this spot. Similarly, bombing squadrons carry the suffix "B" and attack squadrons are labeled as "A," although either of these can be further specified as "heavy" or "light" squadrons, giving us designations such as "VBH," "VBL," "VAH," and "VAL."

To finish it all off, the alphabetic indicators are followed by a number distinguishing the particular squadron from all others of the same designation. Your average carrier will carry two fighter squadrons, one bombing squadron, one attack squadron, an electronic warfare squadron and an in-flight refueling squadron.

Other designations can include tactical electronic warfare, (VAQ), airborne early warning, (VAW), photographic reconnaissance, (VAP), weather reconnaissance, (VPM), and in-flight refueling, (VS).

In addition to these official designations, squadrons also carry names, These are chosen by the squadron members, and often reflect the collective self-image of the group. One of the most notable examples of such colorful imagery is the case of VMF-214, a World War Two squadron of Marine fighter pilots better known as the "Black Sheep Squadron."

In choosing some of the names for this chapter, I looked to the Second World War for inspiration. The name "Blue-Nosed Bastards," which I assigned to squadron VF-5, was originally the name of the 352nd Fighter Group based in Bodney, England. Known for their blue-nosed P-51 Mustangs and aggressive tactics, the moniker was first coined by pilots of the German Luftwaffe who had the misfortune of facing them in combat. Upon learning of this, the American pilots quickly adopted it as their official identity, and the rest is history.

And Ron's own squadron, VF-4, also carries a name with historical roots as well. The squadron name "Red Tails" was first carried aloft by pilots of the 332nd Fighter Group. One of the most highly decorated combat units of the war, this group of brave men is better known to history as the "Tuskeegee Airmen."

_Flight Names: _When entering combat, it's not uncommon for a fighting force to be broken up into smaller units known as "flights." In order to make delegation of responsibility and direction of friendly forces easier, flights are almost always given code names, and these names usually follow a common theme.

In this chapter, the flights mentioned were named after bladed weapons. The rapier, saber and cutlass are all swords of European ancestry, while the bolo is a type of curved fighting knife most commonly found in the Philippines.

_GBU-32: _This is a 1,000-pound, satellite-guided bomb deployed by the United States Navy and occasionally referred to as a Joint Direct-Attack Munition. (JDAM) Using pre-programmed G.P.S. coordinates, the weapon is able to hone in on a target from long range, usually striking within a 30-foot diameter circle.

_CBU-72:_ A type of incendiary cluster bomb, the CBU-72 is essentially a cylindrical casing containing three sub-munitions with a weight of 100 pounds each. When deployed, the outer casing will burst open at a pre-determined altitude, scattering the sub-munitions over a wide area. At an altitude of 30 feet, these sub-munitions then burst open releasing 225 pounds of ethylene oxide to create a cloud of highly combustible vapor.

Milliseconds later, an embedded detonator activates, igniting the cloud and releasing a shockwave of sufficient strength to flatten any structure or vehicle within 100 yards of the epicenter. At greater ranges, the shockwave is sufficient to create substantial damage to even heavy structures.

_RIO: _Radar Interception Officer. This is the second crewman in an F-14 Tomcat, sitting directly behind the pilot. It is his or her responsibility to operate the sophisticated radar and sensor systems, and to function as a second set of eyes for maintaining situational awareness while in combat.

_AESA: _The Active Electronically-Scanned Array, (AESA), radar system represents the next generation of airborne radar detection. By redirecting the angle of the radar beam itself, rather than physically manipulating the entire radar emitter head, a faster and more accurate picture of the battlefield can be obtained. The result of such improvements is the ability to track and target more aircraft at greater ranges than had been previously possible.

_Dassault Rafale: _First flown on July 4, 1986, the Rafale is the latest installment in a long line of highly agile, delta-winged interceptors to be produced by Dassault Aviation. Essentially a highly evolved version of Dassault's revolutionary Mirage-series aircraft, the Rafale is available in both land-based and carrier-based variants, and features such innovations as passive, electronically scanned multi-role radar, and a reduced radar cross-section resulting in limited stealth capability. Rafales currently serve with both the French Navy and Air Force.

Although no Rafales have yet been built for export, several nations have expressed interest, including India, which is interested in purchasing up to 126 individual aircraft.

_Eurofighter Typhoon: _A twin-engine, canard-delta wing strike fighter currently deployed by the German Luftwaffe, British Royal Air Force, Italian Aeronautica Militare, and the Spanish Ejército del Aire. Developed jointly by several European nations during the 1970s, the Typhoon is one of the most widely fielded air superiority fighters in the European theater of operations. Bearing delta wings and canard-style elevators near its nose, it bears a strong resemblance to both the French Rafale, and the Swedish-built Saab 37 Viggen and Saab 39 Gripen.

_AA-11 Archer:_ A highly-evolved variant of the AA-2 Atoll missile, the Archer came as a major shock to western military experts when the collapse of Soviet communism allowed them their first close look at the weapon. Impressed by its superior speed, agility and kill ratio, knowledge of this weapon soon prompted concerted efforts by several western powers to develop effective weapons to match the Soviet capabilities.

_AIM-9X Sidewinder:_ As stated, this is a highly advanced variant of the classic AIM-9 weapon first deployed during the conflict in Vietnam. Features of this weapon include, improver range, speed and maneuverability, all-aspect targeting, and advanced counter-countermeasures the greatly improve the hit-miss ratio of the weapon.

Development of the AIM-9X can be traced to the early 1990s and the collapse of the former Soviet Union. Following the fall of the Iron Curtain, western aerospace engineers received their first good looks at the Soviet-built AA-11 Archer missile, and were shocked by its highly advanced features and capabilities. Soon, a joint program between the United States and her European allies was started to develop an effective counterpart weapon to trump the Soviet advantage. The Advanced Short-Range Air-to-Air Missile program, (ASRAAM), soon degenerated into partisan bickering between the various nations, however, and the United States opted to withdraw from the program, choosing instead to develop their own weapon, parallel to and independently of the European effort.

After extensive research and testing, it was determined that the venerable AIM-9 could be updated to meet the project requirements, and that development of an entirely new weapon was not necessary. The AIM-9X first entered operational deployment with the United States Air Force in November of 2003.

_GAU-22: _A four-barreled, 25-millimeter Gatling gun developed for deployment aboard the Lockheed F-22 Raptor, the GAU-22 is a derivative of the five-barreled GAU-12 that is currently deployed by the United States Marine Corps AV-8B Harrier II. Smaller, lighter and more accurate than the GAU-12, and sporting a larger caliber than the 20-millimeter M-61 Vulcan cannon, the GAU-22 represents a major leap forward in the field of aerial gunnery.

_Thatch Weave: _One of the more colorful maneuvers in the field of aerial combat, the so-called "Thatch Weave" can find its roots in an article published in the September 22, 1941 issue of the Fleet Air Tactical Unit Intelligence Bulletin. This was one of the first articles to contain substantial information on a revolutionary new fighter then being fielded by the Japanese military: The Mitsubishi A6M2 Type 00… The aircraft that would later become legendary as the "Zero."

The following month, a copy of this bulletin found its way into the hands of Lieutenant Commander John S. Thatch of the United States Navy, who at the time was living in Coronado, California while his squadron was stationed at the nearby San Diego Naval Air Station being re-equipped with newer Grumman F4F-3 Wildcat fighters. Thatch fancied himself an armchair tactician of sorts, and held a fondness for diagramming new tactics on his kitchen table, using matchsticks to represent the various aircraft involved.

Although the United States was not yet involved in the Second World War at this point, rampant aggression by both the Japanese and Germany led many to believe that it was only a matter of time until this changed. Recognizing that American pilots would soon be facing the Zero in combat, and alarmed by the Zero's apparently superior agility, Thatch brought the matchsticks out in earnest, trying desperately to come up with a tactical maneuver that would negate this advantage. By early November, he had his plan.

The task of first testing the revolutionary maneuver fell to one of Thatch's squadron mates, Ensign Edward "Butch" O'Hare. During mock attack runs with O'Hare playing the role of attacker, "Butch" quickly found that executing a clean attack against the new tactic was nearly impossible. He later claimed that he couldn't even get close to his target without having some other plane pointing its nose at him.

The first combat test came on June 2, 1942 during the battle of Midway, and in this real-life trial-by-fire, the weave held up. As a squadron of Zeros jumped a flight of four F4F-3s, Ensign R. A. M. Dibb was attacked by a lone Japanese pilot and responded by turning toward his wingman, Commander Thatch. Thatch in turn executed his plan to perfection, dropping in on the Zero's tail and firing until its engine ignited.

Throughout the course of the war, the Thatch Weave continued to frustrate Japanese aviators across the breadth of the Pacific. Top-scoring Japanese ace of the war, Saburo Sakai, would later recount an incident involving one of his squadron mates during the battle for Guadalcanal…

"For the first time today, Lt. Commander Tadashi Nakajima encountered what was to become a famous double-team maneuver on the part of the enemy. Two Wildcats jumped on the commander's plane. He had no trouble in getting on the tail of an enemy fighter, but never had a chance to fire before the Grumman's teammate roared at him from the side. Nakajima was raging when he got back to Rabaul; he had been forced to dive and run for safety."

Even to this day, the Thatch Weave is considered to be a legitimate combat tactic.

_Pugachev's Cobra: _A tactic first used by pilots of the Soviet-built MiG-29 Fulcrum, the Cobra can only be performed by the most high-powered and agile of aircraft. In executing this maneuver, a pilot pitches his nose up into a vertical position, then reduces throttle until engine thrust cancels out, but does not overcome, gravity. The result is a sort of "vertical hover" that presents a difficult target for modern weapons systems, which are designed for high-speed engagements.

Credit for inventing this maneuver is most often given to Viktor Pugachev, a test pilot with the Sukhoi Design Bureau, who first demonstrated the maneuver in a public setting at the Paris Le Bourget air show in 1989. However, it is now known that Soviet test pilots had been performing the move in secret for some time prior.

_Super-Sonic Gun Kill: _This is really something for Ron to be proud of. As it currently stands, there is only one known air-to-air victory to occur above Mach one where a gun was used to bring down the winning pilot's opponent. It occurred over North Vietnam on June 2, 1972, when an F-4/E Phantom flown by Major Phil Handley fired its M-61 Vulcan Cannon and brought down a MiG-19 Farmer. At the time of the kill, Major Handley was flying at an altitude of approximately 500 feet, and traveling at approximately Mach 1.2: The highest velocity ever recorded for a gun kill.

Well this chapter has certainly been a long and turbulent ride. I hope all of you packed your Dramamine and had your seat backs forward, (whatever the heck that means).

As a final note, I'd like to once again personally thank Rei Ronin for running the beta check on this chapter. As the site guru for all things winged and technical, I just wouldn't feel right about posting this without his input. Mad props and a great big shout-out, dude!

And so, with the skies once again friendly, our heroes are about to embark for the next target in their search, which as many of you correctly guessed, is Japan: The land of the rising sun, and really cool techno-gadgetry. (Ain't capitalism just the greatest thing?)

As always, read and review at your own risk, and I'll catch you all on the rebound with chapter eight!

Until next time…

_Nutzkie…_


	8. Return of the Chosen One

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**- Chapter Eight -**

Since the dawn of time, mountains have inspired the imaginations of men. Rugged and majestic, they soar above the surrounding landscape, evoking striking images of both grandeur and wonder.

They are at once both beautiful and mysterious, awing us with their sheer scale, and baring us from deciphering their secrets. Wooded slopes and rocky crags shield their inner-reaches from the wave of human development that has so often consumed more horizontally-inclined regions, while their high precipices and deep ravines serve as natural barriers to those same humans seeking to traverse their expansive vastness.

These great titans of stone and earth stir something primal within us, titillating our curiosity while at the same time consuming us with their overwhelming beauty and serenity…

Although all of this ceases to suffice when one inserts a pair of roaring afterburners into the mix.

"Is this trip really necessary?" Kim called out from Sky Rat's back seat as the massive interceptor hugged the floor of an ancient river valley, booming across the treetops at trans-sonic speed, raising a cloud of dust in its wake.

"Aw c'mon, KP!" Ron replied, glancing back over his shoulder and taking a long pull from his soda. "This new automated, ground-hugging radar setup is totally badical! We're doing six hundred knots, seventy feet off the deck, and I haven't even spilled my drink." He held up said beverage and rattled the ice around for effect.

A startled yelp escaped both teens' lips as their craft suddenly dropped from beneath them, following a corresponding dip in the terrain and sending their stomachs surging into their throats.

"Ya' see," Ron enthusiastically stated, "I never would've thought of making that move!"

"Yeah, and for good reason!" Kim shot back. Truth be told, she was just a little bit put off by the idea of both their lives currently sitting in the hands of the autopilot. The experience with Wade's robotic helicopter during their first trip to Senior Island was one of the very few things that had scared her just as much as it had scared Ron, and now to see him so at ease with the idea while she still felt jittery… Well, "wrongsick" was an adjective that certainly came to mind.

"Try to relax a little, will ya?" Ron panned with a dismissive wave of his hand as the Tomcat rolled and turned its way through the course of the ancient river. "Have a little faith in the technology."

"I prefer my technology firmly planted on the ground, thank you very much." Kim muttered in response as she sunk back into her ejector seat and tried in vain to enjoy the remainder of what she hoped would be a very short flight.

* * *

As any doctor worth his or her salt will tell you, one of the keys to long life is the avoidance of stress.

If one accepts such an assertion, then it becomes painfully obvious why the Japanese culture is one of the oldest on the planet. Currently sitting somewhere just the other side of 3,000 years in age, this ancient way of life has endured for centuries, tenaciously clinging to its core principals of personal tranquility and oneness with all living things, just as it clings to the ancient mountainsides that form its island home.

Everything, from architectural design to personal spirituality, flows from these ideals. A sense of peace permeates the entirety of the culture, enshrouding all those who enter it. For a person born of the hectic, fast-paced western lifestyle, emersion in the Japanese way of life seems like a trip to another planet: To a realm as far removed from the familiar as Melbourne is from the moon.

For the ancient academy perched high atop the cloud-enshrouded cliffs of Mount Yamanuchi, there are no exceptions to this rule. Accented by peaceful streams and manicured lawns, the grounds are a wonderland of tranquility: A magical, fairy-tale realm where ornate pagodas turn their roof corners upward to meet the noon day sun, and cherry blossoms fall in a ceaseless blizzard of pink serenity.

Serenity was also the order of the day for the aged man now standing in the middle of the great central courtyard. As still as the mountain itself, he gave the appearance of a statue rather than a human being, except for those fleeting moments when the gentle breeze that wafted down from the higher peaks would lightly ruffle his long, flowing beard. He was a silent sentinel, his senses tuned to the rhythmic vibrations of the world around him, listening to the music of the cosmos in a way that very few people could ever dream.

His concentration was wholly unfazed at the approach of the lithe young girl behind him. Staying careful to maintain a respectful distance from the wizened old man, she waited several moments before speaking the question that was on her mind.

"He is close, is he not?" she softly asked.

"Indeed." The elderly man nodded slightly, ruffling the snow-white tendrils of his beard. "Stoppable-san's approach is eminent."

Yori simply nodded silently in response. She did not doubt the accuracy of Sensei's statement, for his finely tuned senses allowed him to discern such things. If the ancient master of the Yamanuchi School said that Ron-san was approaching, then it was certain that he would soon be within their midst, and that meant that certain preparations would now need to be made.

"Shall I go tell the others?" she asked as Sensei continued his stone-like stare across the courtyard, seemingly looking at nothing.

"Hai." He replied with another nod. "It would indeed be wise for everyone to now prepare themselves for the Chosen One's arrival."

"Hai, master." Yori curtly replied with a bow before turning back toward the cluster of buildings that formed the core of the school complex. It would not be long before the Chosen One would honor them all with his presence once again, and the school needed to be made ready.

* * *

The rugged canyons of mount Yamanuchi suddenly came alive, reverberating with a thunderous roar as Sky Rat screamed underneath the impressive rope bridge, causing said structure to gesticulate wildly about before returning to its more characteristic gentle swaying motion. Treetops snapped and whipped about through the force of the mighty craft's jet wash, and forest creatures instinctively ran for cover. Slowly and methodically, Ron eased the control yoke back into his lap, bringing the massive interceptor into a steep climb. Then, with a few swift motions, he reduced power and winged over into a gradual descending spiral, slowly reducing speed until a more manageable velocity had been obtained.

Then, and only then, did he display Sky Rat's newest ability.

The latest addition to the Tomcat's bag of tricks had come courtesy of Wade and the Tweebs. With some well-timed inputs to the cockpit touch screens, butterfly doors beneath both engine exhausts snapped open, and the massive exhaust ports began to articulate downward. At the same time, a set of similar doors opened underneath the rear section of Sky Rat's forward fuselage and two smaller thrust nozzles emerged as well. Within moments, the bulk of the plane's thrust was being directed downward, and the ultra-modern fighter has slowed to a near dead hover.

"How's our position looking, KP?" Ron asked, checking his instruments to ensure that all systems were functioning properly.

"Looks like we're lined up nicely." Kim replied, glancing over her own displays. "You can take her straight down."

"Okay, then." Ron responded, easing back ever so slightly on the throttle. "Going down… Third floor… House wares, cookware and major appliances…"

Kim was still laughing when their tires touched down on the soft grass of the central courtyard.

* * *

Stepping out of the cockpit proved to be a somewhat unnerving experience this time around, as their expectations of a warm welcome were quickly dispelled. The ancient grounds seemed to be deserted with not even the sounds of songbirds present to greet their arrival. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the time they had arrived just prior to the assault of Yono the Destroyer upon the school, and the sensation sent a cold chill down both the teen's spines.

"Ron? Where is everybody?" Kim asked, warily looking around.

"I dunno, KP." Ron replied with a little more than a twinge of nervousness in his voice. "You don't suppose that they're all away on summer break, do you?"

"I somehow doubt that ninja schools have summer break, Ron."

"Yeah, and that's what worries me."

"You have no need of worry, Stoppable-san." A new and familiar voice suddenly called out from behind them. "You are always among friends here."

The two teens quickly spun around to be greeted by the serenely smiling sight of Sensei, standing in a position where they both would have sworn he wasn't standing just half a moment before. It took a moment, but Ron soon recovered his wits and stepped toward the wizened ninja master with a warm smile.

"Practicing the whole 'hiding-in-plain-sight' ninja trick, are we?" Ron asked after catching his breath.

"Indeed." Sensei answered, calmly as ever. "I occasionally enjoy, as you Americans say, 'showing off my wicked skills.'"

"Ah, I gotcha." Ron smiled as he approached Sensei to exchange salutary fist bumps. Kim could only stand idly by and scratch her head at the spectacle. Somehow the image of Sensei and the phrase "wicked skills" were two things she had a hard time reconciling with each other.

"Sooooo…" Ron continued, scratching the back of his neck and glancing anxiously about. "Where's everybody at? Off on some sort of secret ninja sabbatical or some…"

It was then that the entire courtyard was suddenly filled with hooded figures, clad in black: Figures who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"_Show-offs!"_ Ron grumbled under his breath.

"As always, the Yamanuchi School is honored by your presence, Stoppable-san." A different yet still familiar voice called out from behind Sensei, eliciting a smile from Ron and a grimace from Kim.

"Yori!" Ron cried out, craning his neck to see the young ninja's approach. "Didn't catch ya' back there! It's so totally awesome to see you again!"

"Ah, Stoppable-san. You and your American-style colloquiums." The young Japanese girl lightly giggled.

"Coll… co… colloqi-_what?"_ Ron stammered in return. "Who's talking about cloaks? I'm just sayin' 'hi' is all."

At this, Yori's laughter became a little more pronounced.

And Kim's grimace became a little more intense.

Ever the vigilant observer, Sensei frowned beneath his flowing beard. The were certain issues here that would need to be addressed, he silently determined…

…Before a Japanese-American conflict erupted that would make World War Two look like a playground scuffle.

* * *

"And so that's where we're at right now." Kim said, turning to her Japanese hosts. "Wade's got us zeroed in on the target, so now we're pretty much just talking logistics."

So far, Sensei and the rest of the school elders had been in total agreement with Team Possible's assessment. The cryptic clue was almost certainly referring to the historic battle of Dannoura and its location in the Shimonoseki Strait along the southern shore Honshu, on the Great Inland Sea. It was there, after all, that the political dominance of the Heike clan was brought to a crashing end by the rival Genji on April 25th of the year 1185. The battle had been a complete disaster for the Heike, with their entire force being wiped out, and their leader, the child emperor Antoku, drowning him self in the sea. It was one of the most significant political developments in the entire history of Japan, and its location was marked by one of the more elaborate Shinto shrines in the region.

And it seemed the perfect place to start searching for their next clue.

"Very well then." Sensei spoke, stepping forward to address the group. "It is settled. Team Possible, assisted by myself and one of our senior students, shall travel to the Akama-jingu shrine and perform their investigation. We shall use our extensive resources to make all necessary travel arrangements and facilitate their mission in any way necessary."

"Please and thank you." Kim said with a bow. The elders of Yamanuchi were certainly rolling out the red carpet for her and Ron, she realized, agreeing to provide them with whatever they might need. Such strong generosity deserved equally strong gratitude, but something Sensei had said stuck in her mind, and her back hitched slightly in mid-bow.

"Uh, not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything," she warily asked, suspecting that she may already know the answer, "but which 'senior student' did you have in mind?"

"I believe Yori is the most logical choice." Sensei replied, coolly as ever. "Her skills are well-proven, and she is already familiar with the personalities and fighting styles of both Stoppable-san and yourself."

"It will be my honor to assist Team Possible in the completion of this task, master." Yori responded, stepping forward from the shadows that lined the perimeter of the room. "I will not disappoint you."

"Of that I have no doubt, my child." Sensei replied, his expression as serene and unreadable as ever.

Kim did her best to smile appreciatively, but fount the task difficult at best. To spite Yori's previous insistence that she had accepted Ron as Kim's destiny, (whatever _that _meant), there was something that she still didn't trust about Yamanuchi's star pupil. Perhaps it was because ninjas were so skilled in the use of deception and subterfuge, carefully concealing their thoughts and feelings… It didn't matter how well you thought you knew one, you were never quite sure what they were really up to. Or maybe it was the fact that even _she_ had to admit that the Asian beauty was ferociously smoking hot.

In any case, Kim thought, she would be spending the next few days on high alert. If the young shadow warrior even so much as thought about making a move on her man, then there was going to be a smack-down in Japan-town. That much was for certain.

And as Kim formed a plan for protecting her territory, Sensei was forming his own: A plan to settle the "Ron-San" issue between these two young women once and for all.

* * *

As day wore on into evening, events seemed to calm themselves somewhat, and Kim actually found herself enjoying the surroundings. Yori stayed out of sight for the most part, making personal preparations for the coming mission, Kim speculated. Ron used the time to take her on a tour of the grounds, pointing out the various buildings and explaining their functions. She quickly found herself overwhelmed by the beauty of the campus, which she had previously been unable to appreciate. There was something about fighting ancient mystical super-villains and getting turned to stone that didn't leave much time for sightseeing, after all. But now, with a few hours to spare and Ron by her side, she felt that she had found some small measure of paradise, and she began to understand why her boyfriend often spoke so fondly of this place.

Following the tour was dinner, where much to Ron's chagrin, he still found himself unable to match Master Lunch Lady's sushi-slinging skills. Fortunately, however, Kim's reflexes were fast enough to snag two catches of the day, and Ron was spared a very hungry evening.

Later, as the sun turned a swollen red and dipped below the western horizon, the two teen heroes found themselves sitting peacefully in the shade of a small shrine, drinking in the beauty that was the celestial fireworks display this evening.

"Beautiful… simply beautiful." Kim sighed, leaning back into Ron's tender embrace.

"Yeah." Ron wistfully agreed. "And the sunset isn't bad either."

"Wha…" Kim began to ask, turning around to glance back at her boyfriend. It was then that it dawned on her… Ron wasn't looking at the distant sky… He was looking at _her._

"Awwwwww, Ron. That's so sweet." She cooed, reaching up to tenderly cup his cheek and draw him in for an equally tender kiss.

Silence reigned for the next several minutes as the young lovers returned their attentions to the cosmic pageantry that was by now quickly reaching its climax. It was at this moment that Kim felt something stir within her. A memory: one that had been buried deep within her mind was now resurgent, rising to the forefront of her consciousness like a great wave crashing upon a rocky beach. She blinked repeatedly, and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

"Hey, _heeeeeeyyyy…"_ Ron whispered, immediately picking up on the change in his girlfriend's mood. "What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Oh, nothing." Kim replied, a little _too_ defensively for Ron's liking. "It's just something… _silly_ is all."

"Well the Ron-man is all about the silliness, so lay it on me."

"Well, it's just that, I remember this time…"

"Yeah."

"It was a little over two months after you enlisted."

"Uh huh."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"…And I'd been searching for you everywhere I could think of, but I'd used up all my favors by this point, and Wade couldn't get me any more rides, and I just knew he was ready to give up on you, and… and…" She was _really_ starting to tear up by that point.

"Keep going. I've got you."

"And I was just missing you _so_ much by that point. I was getting ready for bed one night, and I looked out my window to see this ferociously spectacular sunset, and it was just so beautiful and all that, but somehow it only wound up reminding me of you."

"I see."

"I was just so freakin' lonely at that point, Ron. I wound up standing at the window with one hand on the glass and the other cradling our prom picture as tightly as I could, and… and… and I just stood there and cried, Ronnie. I just couldn't stop myself. It was like I was letting go of emotions that I didn't even know I'd been carrying. It was weird, I tell you. Terrible and weird."

"Sure sounds like it was." Ron admitted, gently stroking Kim's luscious red hair. "I can imagine how it must have felt."

"Doubtful."

"No, seriously… I can."

Kim twisted in Ron's arms to regard him with a look that was equal parts suspicion and interest.

"There was this one morning, pretty much about the same time frame that you mentioned, come to think of it," he explained, "where I wound up on the hangar deck right at sunrise. It was almost surreal, the way the colors of the dawn reflected off the waves and mixed with the glow of the wake."

"The glow of the wake?" Kim asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah! It's totally crazy, but there's actually this type of algae that floats in the ocean, and when the props of a big ship stir up the stuff, it gives off this freaky, greenish glow! It's totally cool when you see it!"

"Yeah, I'll remember that for my biology midterms." Kim panned. "Now you were saying something about sunrise."

"Oh yeah! Well, you see, I was standing there, just leaning on the railing, watching this eye-popping light show going on in front of me…"

"Yeah."

"But somehow, even with all that showmanship right there in front of my nose, the only thing I could think about was you, and that somewhere beyond that horizon you were waiting for me."

Kim's reaction to this admission was one of stunned silence, and staring blankly into Ron's cherubic face. She knew all too well the trials and hardships she herself had endured during their unexpected separation, but to see those experiences mirrored so directly in Ron's eyes as well…

With a surprising combination of speed and fluidity Kim snaked her arms around Ron's neck and pulled him down to her, capturing his lips with her own. To know that the bond they shared was as mutual as it was wonderful caused her heart to soar, and she conveyed this sensation through the kiss she was now delivering. For several, silent seconds they savored the moment, allowing their passions to mix like oil and wine. It wasn't until the mutual need for air forced the issue that they reluctantly parted.

"Like, wow!" Ron gasped, a bemused smile plastered squarely across his face.

"You said it." Kim replied, nestling down once again into the crook of Ron's shoulder. "Although I'm wondering, just where were you when all of this happened?"

"On the hangar deck, near the fantail, looking aft."

"Actually, I was thinking in more geographic terms."

"Well, it was only a few days before our scuffle with Drakken's air farce,"

"Air _force,_ Ron."

"Says you."

Kim chuckled lightly at the jab.

"Anyway," Ron continued, absently rubbing his chin. "Best guess, we were probably a couple hundred miles west of the Marianas Islands at the time. Why?"

"Do you think maybe we were looking at the same thing?"

"Don't see how we could be, KP. You were watching the sun go down, while I was watching it come up."

"But you were almost half a world away to the west of me, Ron!" Kim explained. "Dawn for you would have been almost the same time as dusk back in Middleton. Factor in that time difference, and there's a chance that…"

Any further speculation on the subject was unceremoniously cut off by the familiar four-tone beep of the Kimmunicator.

"Never fails." Ron grumbled as Kim reached to acknowledge the small device on her wrist.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" she asked as cheerfully as possible, trying to hide her tweak at being interrupted during such a tender moment.

"Hey Kim. Just wanted to let you know that I've been doing some digging, and I've turned up some four-one-one on Doctor DaLive." Wade informed.

"Well lay it on us, then" Kim chimed.

"Okay. Admittedly, it's not much, but I managed to track down some of his group affiliations." Wade explained. "First off, he's a charter member of the National Skeptics Society."

"I find that hard to believe." Ron scoffed.

"He's also a card-carrying member of Narcissists Anonymous."

"What-_ever!"_

"And he belongs to the American Procrastination Association."

"Can we talk about this later?"

"Uh, yeah… I suppose." Wade sheepishly replied. "Look, if I called at a bad time…"

"Pfft… Don't worry about it Wade." Kim reassured her young webmaster. "Just keep up the good work."

"Thanks, Kim. Will do!"

"Spankin! Kim out."

And with that, the tiny screen went dark, which was something that could also be said of the sky by that point in time. Kim stretched lazily in Ron's embrace, placing her arms around his neck once again.

"I think it's time for bed, baby." She cooed. "Mornings come pretty early around here."

"Don't I know it?" Ron grimaced, recalling all of the pre-dawn wake up calls he had endured during his previous stays. Slowly and reluctantly, he lifted himself and his girlfriend to their feet, and the pair set off for the dormitory building that would serve as their home away from home.

It wasn't long before they had reached their destination, with the accommodations being just as Spartan as Ron remembered them. Their rooms for the evening were at the far end of the hall, side by side. All in all, it was so convenient that they might have considered bunking together for the night, but the presence of paper walls and highly trained ninja sentries in the vicinity quickly banished any such plans. Sighing forlornly, the young couple was forced to settle for a good night kiss and the knowledge that each one's partner was sleeping only a few feet away.

Sliding the door to his room closed, Ron's shoulders drooped. Up until this point it had failed to register with his pre-occupied mind. But now, free from distraction and diversion, he realized just how tired he was. The strains of a day filled with flying and planning had left him physically and mentally drained. Slowly and laboriously, with sloth-like movements, he stripped out of his one-piece flight suit, crawled under the solitary blanket and blew out the candle that served as the room's sole source of illumination.

Then, his very breath was taken away.

Glancing across the room, he saw a sight that nearly sent him into a heart seizure. In the room next door, Kim was stepping out of her own flight suit, the light of a single candle casting a perfect silhouette across the sheet of rice paper that separated their quarters. Every curve, every line, every supple detail of her toned, athletic body was projected perfectly by the light of the gently dancing flame. She was a work of art… A sculpture come to life… She was a goddess… _His_ goddess, and he worshiped her accordingly.

Without words to occupy his tongue, his mouth hung silently open, his eyes glazing over in awestruck wonderment. He wondered what miracle of heaven must have transpired to ever send him an angel such as this, and what monumental thing he had ever done to deserve such an honor.

"Enjoying the show over there?"

The words nearly knocked him over, so unexpected they were in their coming. In his befuddled state, he had failed to notice Kim's taking notice of him. Racing to think of a response, his brain refused to cooperate and his mental gears stripped. The only response he was capable of producing, it turned out, was one of incoherent babbling.

"Wha… um… I wasn't… I mean… I didn't notice… that… you… were… uh… What are we talking about again?"

"I thought so." Kim panned. You could almost hear her grinning.

"Oh man! I'm really, really sorry 'bout that, KP." Ron groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I didn't mean to be staring like that. I should just…"

"Shhhh. Don't worry about it, baby." Kim reassured him. "It's not like I didn't get something out of it too." She added somewhat sultrily.

"Beg pardon?" Ron confusedly inquired.

"I'm not the only one who can throw a shadow."

"Huh? What are you talking…"

"Word of advice: Next time, blow out your candle _before_ you get undressed, stud-muffin."

"Oh, so you mean… Wait! You mean… You were watching me while I was…"

"And enjoying every minute of it, too."

"Aw man!"

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Well, I just feel so… so… _used."_

Kim snorted at her boyfriend's levity as she crawled under her own blanket and extinguished the candle by her bedside.

"Yeah, well it was appreciated just the same." She quipped

"As long as somebody appreciates my work, I guess." Ron shot back, settling his head down onto what passed for a pillow in this part of the world.

"One more piece of advice, though."

"Yeah."

"Next time: More hip action."

"I'll be sure and add that to my repertoire." Ron groggily conceded.

"Yeah, you do that." Kim yawned in response, exhaustion from the day quickly catching up with her as well. "Goodnight, Ron." She mumbled into her pillow.

The only response she received was a series of satisfying snores emanating from the next room.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Like, DANG, this one took a long time to get out! My apologies to everyone for the extreme delay that this chapter suffered. I just hate to leave folks hanging like that.

I wish I could blame it on some sort of family emergency, natural disaster, or being busier than a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest, but sadly I can not. The fact of the matter is that I just haven't been feeling all that inspired as of late, and without the spark of inspiration, the desire to keep writing quickly wanes. Maybe things will begin to pick up soon… Maybe they won't… But I promised myself a long time ago that I would never force myself to write anything if I wasn't "feeling it" properly. That sort of forced creativity is how sub-standard stories get written, and as dedicated followers of fan fiction, you all deserve better than that. The bottom line is that I'd rather produce nothing than produce garbage. If that makes me a nit-picky bozo, then so be it.

Kudos to the several reviewers from the previous chapter who correctly guessed the current clue. Team Possible is loose in the land of sushi, anime and whacked-out game shows! LTAOZFAN, Comet Moon and Masonkarisis get the golden cupie dolls here.

The VTOL (Vertical Take-Off and Landing) capability that Sky Rat shows in this chapter is something that I've been wanting to add for some time. It dawned on me at some point that most of the exotic locales visited by Team Possible aren't exactly within easy reach of an airport. (Monkey temples deep within the Cambodian jungle don't have their own landing strips, as a general rule.) The ability to make one's own airfield by simply dropping into any clearing or open piece of ground is of obvious benefit here.

As for the operation side of things, mechanically speaking, a VTOL system in a Tomcat would be complex in its design, but not technically impossible. And when it comes to taking complex techno-concepts and making them work, whose better at it that Wade and the Tweebs. If they couldn't make a go of it, well…

I already have some material written for chapter nine, so maybe it will flow quicker than this one did. If not, then I can only ask your patience as I work through whatever blocking issues that I'm dealing with. Rest assured, however, that when and if I do post again, it will only be because I'm satisfied with the quality of the work I'm posting. Half-a$$ed is wholly unacceptable in my book… er…site… uh… whatever.

As always… read, review and enjoy! Happy literary journeys, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	9. Shrine On!

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Nine ~**

Streaking across the coastal flatlands south of Tokyo, a great white blur rocketed effortlessly through the countryside with graceful agility, much to the excitement of at least one American teenager on board.

"Wow! These bullet trains have got me so ferociously psyched!" Ron exclaimed, pressing his nose firmly against one of the oversized windows. "Two hundred plus miles an hour and I'm hardly feeling a thing! KP, is this the coolest thing you've ever seen or what?"

"It's wow-worthy, Ron." Kim conceded with a minor twinge of annoyance in her voice. "But would you mind not gluing yourself to the glass like that. You look like some giant, freckled fly.'"

"Huh? Oh right. Sorry 'bout that." Ron responded, pulling back to wipe the windowpane with his sleeve. "Guess I got a little carried away there."

"That is quite understandable, Stoppable-san." Yori's voice came from across the table that the four were sitting at. "The _Shinkansen_ is considered a technological wonder throughout the world: Clean, efficient and reliable. It is a source of great pride for the Japanese people."

"Well I've sure gotta give you mad props in that department." Ron enthusiastically agreed. "We ain't got nothing like this back in the States."

Kim had to nod silently in agreement with Ron's statement. Being raised in a rather progressive, science-oriented family, she had long since learned to appreciate what she saw as the importance of environmental responsibility. It was for this reason that she volunteered every year for the Middleton Park Clean Up and participated in the local Earth Day activities. Green was good, as far as she was concerned.

Whatever the topic, be it global warming, recycling, nuclear power or alternative energy, she had an opinion, and this was especially true when it came to the subject of air pollution.

Like many residents of Colorado, she had grown to consider clear skies and mountain vistas as a birthright, and was appalled when confronted with images of skies turned a sickly brown by the activities of urban living. It seemed like the ultimate crime against humanity to her, and the overall lack of efficient public transportation in most major American cities was chief among the culprits in her opinion.

But now was not the time for environmental activism. Now was the time for strategy. Quickly slipping into mission mode, Kim motioned for her patchwork team to huddle up.

"Okay, it's gonna be crunch time in a couple of hours, so we need to come up with some sort of a game plan." Kim pointed out, once she had everyone's attention. "Sensei, what do we know about our target?"

The ninja master nodded to his young assistant, and Yori quickly withdrew a parchment map from her pack, which she then unfurled on the table between them.

"The Akama-jinga shrine," Sensei began, "is a large complex of buildings, rather than a single structure. The main feature is a large, ceremonial gate that looks out onto the Kanmon Strait. Behind this gate lies the _Shichimori-zuka:_ A series of seven earthen mounds said to be sacred to the Heike warriors." He pointed to the map, indicating various areas as he spoke.

"I see." Kim replied, leaning in close to carefully study the details of the map. "Tell me, are there any secluded areas or out of the way spots?"

"By which you mean locations conducive to concealment?" Sensei asked.

"Pretty much." Kim answered flatly.

"Here." Sensei replied, pulling a withered finger from his robe and thrusting it at a spot on the map. "This is the monument to 'Hoichi the Earless.' It is a popular attraction for visitors, but the area surrounding it is thickly wooded and provides much in the way of places to hide."

"All right then, that'll be our primary target." Kim remarked, planting her hands authoritatively on the table and taking a long look at her teammates. "If we strike out there, then we'll regroup and come up with a 'Plan-B.' And we'll try not to think about how a guy got hung with the name 'Hoichi the Earless.'" She added with a shudder.

"Yeah. Like, some things are just too wrongsick to know." Ron concurred with a shudder of his own.

"Hnk, uh huh. _Eeewwwww!"_ Rufus agreed, driving the remark home with a well-blown raspberry.

* * *

The gates of the Akama-jinja shrine seemed ablaze in the late morning sunlight, the crimson red colonnades reflecting dancing patterns, which themselves were being reflected by the waters of the adjacent sea. The water itself was a dazzling shade of turquoise blue, the wind driven waves sporting foam whitecaps that gave the appearance of diamond encrustation along their crests.

"By any chance did we just walk into a postcard?" Ron inquired, actually appearing slightly unnerved by the immense beauty around him.

"Doubtful." Kim replied reassuringly, leading the small group up the great stone steps toward the imposing shadows of the ornate entryway.

Once through the massive gateway, the two Americans were quickly taken aback by the enormity of the shrine's central courtyard. The space was truly vast, teaming with humanity and encompassing expansive lawns and immaculately manicured gardens. For over 150 years this had been sacred ground for the Shinto faithful, and its every detail testified to their unflinching devotion.

"Okay, everyone…" Kim said after several moments, shaking the distraction out of her head. "We're not here to sightsee. Let's go find our mark."

A short walk from the main gate, (or at least short by the standards of such a massive facility), the team located the shrine of Hoichi the Earless: A small, very ornate building set back from the main buildings and tucked into a vine-covered corner of the complex. Being not much larger than two phone booths put together, it seemed strangely out of place amongst the large structures and open spaces that dominated the rest of the facility. Here, mostly hidden from view, the crowds of the main courtyard quickly faded into the background and one felt some measure of peace and solitude come over them.

"So what exactly _is_ the back-story with this guy?" Ron asked, peering at the detailed statue inside the small shrine.

"It is a story most ancient, Stoppable-san." Sensei explained. "One of the most revered tales of Japanese mythology."

"You see, Stoppable-san," Yori continued for her master, "according to legend, Hoichi was a minstrel who lived here on the temple grounds in the early thirteenth century. In that time the temple was known by the Buddhist name of Amidaji, as Shinto had not yet become the state religion of Japan.

"The story tells us that Hoichi was a gifted musician with the biwa, and his performances would often bring his audience to tears. He gladly played for anyone who asked, until one night when he was awakened by a gruff samurai who demanded he come perform for his master. Dutiful and obedient as ever, Hoichi complied and was handsomely applauded when his performance was complete. The nobleman requested another performance the following night, but informed Hoichi that he was traveling incognito, and that Hoichi should not speak of his encounter with anyone."

"Figures." Ron absently remarked. "Musicians always have the mad street cred."

Yori silently arched an eyebrow at Ron's observation before continuing.

"The next night, things did not go so well. The priest of the shrine noticed Hoichi's absence and had the temple servants perform a search for him. When they finally located him, he was found to be standing alone, playing his instrument in the middle of the local Buddhist cemetery. The servants were confused, but the priest quickly deduced the cause: Hoichi was being haunted by ghosts."

"Well _that_ would certainly take something away from a guys act; having a phantom audience." Ron remarked with a shudder. "What do you call that, anyway? A _dead_ performance?"

This time both Yori and Kim rolled their eyes, and if one could see beneath his extensive facial hair, it would be apparent that Sensei did so as well.

"In any case," Yori continued, "the next night, the priest told Hoichi to remain perfectly still when the samurai returned for him, and as a precaution he wrote the words of the _Kanji_ over his entire body."

"Uh, time out. The _Kanji?"_ Kim asked in confusion.

"A most ancient and sacred poem." Sensei explained. "Many believe its words to be magical, and that those who bear or speak it possess special protection from spirits and mystical forces."

"Indeed." Yori continued. "For when the spirit returned for the third time, Hoichi did as he had been instructed, and his body was rendered invisible to the spirit by the magic of the Kanji. Or at least, every part of his body that was covered by the Kanji."

"Let me guess… His ears." Kim remarked knowingly.

"Correct, Possible-san. Although his preparations were most thorough, the kindly priest had failed to write the Kanji on Hoichi's ears, and this left them visible to the spirit. Frustrated by his inability to elicit a response from Hoichi, it is said the ghost flew into a rage and sliced off Hoichi's ears. The encounter left him disfigured for life, but the power of the spirits was broken, and never again was Hoichi plagued by ghostly visitors."

"Man, that's gotta tank." Ron remarked with a repulsed shudder. "Having your ears cut off by a ghost samurai? Totally not cool, dude!"

"I'm pretty sure having your ears cut off by anyone would tank, Ron." Kim observed dryly. "But now that we're done with story time, let's get down to brass tacks and start looking."

"Indeed, Possible-san." Yori agreed. "We must not let petty dalliances distract us from our mission."

"Okay, am I the only one who finds it weird that you speak better English than I do?" Ron asked, scratching his head and looking directly at the lithe young ninja. "'Cause it's kinda freaking me out."

Yori smiled warmly at Ron's unintentional compliment, Kim lightly scowled at the gesture, Sensei almost imperceptibly raised an eyebrow, and Ron, as usual, was blissfully oblivious to the entire exchange. Overall it was a group dynamic that would have kept Sigmund Freud up nights.

"Linguistics later, Ron." Kim scolded. "Searching now."

"Right!" he agreed, turning quickly to scan the surrounding area, then just as quickly turned back toward his redheaded girlfriend.

"Uh, what are we looking for again?" he asked sheepishly.

"Don't know." Kim admitted. "Strange footprints… disturbed vegetation… anything out of the ordinary, really."

"You mean something like a rhododendron with a deadbolt?"

"Probably."

"Like this one here?"

"What?!"

All at once, Kim, Yori and Sensei spun on their heels to face their golden-haired companion. There, growing against a non-descript section of a rough stonewall was a flowering rhododendron vine, and almost completely obscured within its leafy embrace was a rusty and weatherworn latch.

"That's gotta be it!" Kim gasped in disbelief. Privately she had been dreading the possibility that their search could take hours, or that it might even prove entirely fruitless. But for the entire ordeal to take less than ten seconds? That was incomprehensible, even by the standards of Ron's dumb luck.

Stepping forward to inspect the object in question, Yori closely noted every detail, satisfying herself that the item was not rigged or booby-trapped in any way. Finally, once safety was assured, she grasped and turned the corroded handle with a metallic squeak, and pressed her slender shoulder against the stone surface, forcing it back to reveal a small niche and a set of stone steps, steep and narrow, descending into total darkness.

"Circumstances would indicate that this is the quarry we seek." Yori observed, her voice and mannerisms as flat and unreadable as ever.

"Gee, state the obvious much?" Kim mumbled, almost inaudibly.

"I am curious, Stoppable-san." Yori continued, either ignoring or not noticing Kim's remark. "How did you locate this item?"

"Well, you might say I sort of bumped into it." Ron chuckled dismissively. He seemed more than eager to downplay the incident, but by the way he was rubbing his shoulder, it was apparent that his description of the event wasn't entirely figurative.

Kim could only shake her head and smile at the sight. That was her Ron: Finding an almost impossibly hidden item by pure accident. She sometimes surmised that of all the people on earth, _he_ was the one who could literally find a needle in a haystack; most likely by sitting on the confounded thing.

Yes, his signature "dumb skills" were in full force today, and she quickly decided that he should be rewarded for that: Especially since such a reward would serve to satisfy her own goals as well.

Stepping forward to take the lead once again, she paused momentarily before the smiling vestige of her boyfriend, making sure that the young Japanese girl with them was watching.

"Good job, baby." She lauded, and leaned in to give him a buss on the cheek, taking care in allowing her lips to linger just a half-second longer than necessary. It was a subtle gesture, but one certain to not be lost on the young Shinobi in their midst.

Satisfied that her territory was sufficiently marked, Kim strode forward toward the darkened portal. To her credit, Yori showed no visible reaction to the redhead's PDA, but that much was to be expected. When dealing with such shadow warriors, it was the little things that counted, and Kim smiled inwardly, taking pride in that she had just scored some major pointage.

And with a final check of her surroundings, the redheaded heroine extraordinaire climbed into the confined space and disappeared into the inky blackness beyond.

* * *

The passageway they had found was definitely not built with modern building codes in mind. It was narrow, steep, damp, and the Kimmicator's built-in LED flashlight was barely enough to cut through the darkness. Under such conditions it was nearly impossible to tell where they were going. "Down" seemed to be the only obvious answer.

"Well I'd say they've obviously never read the ADA." Ron commented. "Is a simple handrail all that much to ask?"

"_Shhhh…"_ Kim admonished. "Sneaky mode here."

"Oh, right. Zip the lip. Sorry."

Moving ever deeper into the abyss, the stairs soon ended, depositing the team into a large subterranean chamber. As underground rooms went, it was rather spacious, appearing to have been hewn from a smaller, natural cave. The vaulted ceiling stood at least 20 feet above the floor at its apex, and featured intricate carvings that were nearly indiscernible amongst the shadows that blanketed those higher elevations. The perimeter was lined with massive columns, hand carved from the solid bedrock, and bronze torches sprouted from the walls at regular intervals, allowing their faint light to flicker and dance across to open space.

And then, at the far end of the room, standing before what appeared to be a primitive altar of some sort, was the last thing they had expected to find.

"Oh sugarfoot! This is complicated!" the all-too-familiar figure brooded, shoving her nose into a copy of Roget's Thesaurus. "If people have something to say, they should just come out and say it! Using all these sneaky words isn't very nice"

"Neither is wearing a pink sweatshirt with off-white stretch pants." Ron whispered. "From this angle she looks like a giant tootsie pop."

"_Shhhhhh."_ Kim admonished, alerting him to the fact that he had made his remark a little more loudly than he intended.

"Whose there?" the woman demanded, spinning around to face whomever had managed to sneak up on her. It only took a few seconds of squinting into the darkness to find her answer.

"You!" she shouted. "Why do I always run into you?"

"I don't know, D. N. Amy," Kim cool replied, stepping out into the light, such as it was. "But just as a hunch, it might have something to do you being evil and everything."

"Evil is a very hurtful word." The mad geneticist responded, pouting slightly. "Sure, I may do things that are a little unorthodox…"

"Would that be your octo-parrot or your or-ant-gutan?" Ron inquired.

"Honestly, I was thinking of my ptero-duck-tyl, but in any case IT DOESN'T MAKE ME EVIL!"

"No, but it makes you a freak who goes against everything that God and nature ever intended, and that's the sort of thing that often gets mistaken for evil."

"Ron!" Kim hissed.

"What? I'm just saying it's an easy mistake to make!"

"You sir, are the biggest meanie in the world!" Amy huffed, crossing her arms defiantly.

"I am most definitely _not_ a meanie." Ron shot back indignantly. "If I _were_ a meanie, I would have totally skipped the smart remarks about your wardrobe and whacked-out hobbies, and gone straight after that hideous gap between your front teeth."

"What about my teeth?" Amy gasped, reflexively bringing a hand up to shield her face. "There's nothing wrong with my teeth! They just make me unique in my own special way is all!"

"Whadda ya' use for a toothpick? A tent stake?"

"Perhaps it is not so wise, Stoppable-san, to be insulting the emotionally disturbed villain?" Yori broke in, a little more calm than Kim would have been.

"Then tell _her_ to stop making it so easy!"

"_Arrrrgh!_ Moving on!" Kim huffed, turning her attention back to the renegade researcher in their midst. "So tell us Amy… Why are you here?"

"Well isn't it obvious?" D. N. Amy giggled in her usual bubbly manner. "Unlimited power? Total control?"

"Answering questions with questions?" Ron volunteered, earning an ice-cold glare from all three women.

"Okay, but still," Kim continued, "how does that really help you? I mean, you're good at what you do, such as it is, but you've never really impressed me as the 'global domination' type."

"Yeah, that's always sort of been Drakken's thing." Ron added. "Well, him and Dementor… and Gemini… and the Seniors… and even Frugal Lucre in his own strange way…"

"We get it Ron." Kim interjected, cutting her boyfriend off. "You don't need to go through the whole list. So what gives, Amy?"

"Well if you must know, there's more than one way to use absolute power." Amy stated smugly, seemingly satisfied that she was thinking on a higher plain than her adversaries. "With the power in my hands, I'll be able to do whatever I want! Transformations… modifications… I'll be able to change anything, from anything, _to_ anything!"

"Great! More mutant side-show attractions." Kim grumbled.

"_Hmpf!_ As _if!"_ Amy sniffed indignantly. "Sure, I'll probably get around to creating more cuddlebuddies, eventually, but the first thing I'm going to do is change my precious Monty-kins back into his cute, adorable, cuddly self."

"You want to bring Monkey Fist back to life?" Kim gasped, surprised that she hadn't seen this coming.

"Well of course, silly." Amy gushed. "He's been so cold and unfeeling lately, but once I have this power thingy, he be right back to his goodie-woody, fuzzy-wuzzy, cuddly-wuddly self again!"

"_Ugh."_ Ron groaned, turning to leave. "If anyone needs me, Ronnie-Wonnie will be out taking a barfy-warfy in the hally-wally."

"Good call." Kim agreed, thinking that Ron having a few moments to himself right now was probably a good thing.

"Awwwww, is he sick?" Amy inquired, a surprising amount of concern etched into her voice.

"He'll be fine." Kim insisted. "Now back to business here; if you think we're gonna let you just waltz out of here with the keys to absolute power in your pocket, you've got another thing coming."

"Well it certainly figures that you'd go all party-pooper on me, Kim Possible." Amy huffed. "That's why I brought along some of my latest creations. And they're just _so_ eager to meet you."

Kim, Yori and Sensei all dropped into defensive crouches, steeling themselves for whatever mutanogenic mayhem that the mad geneticist had in store.

"Say hello to my latest party animals," Amy enthused, "the _spider monkeys!"_

"Spider monkeys?" Kim asked perplexedly. "Not to burst your bubble or anything, but that's not much of a mutation. There's already a species called…"

It was at that moment that several ominous figures scurried froth from the deep shadows that flanked either side of the altar. Upon fully entering the dim torchlight of the chamber, it became clear that their heads, bodies and tails were clearly simian in origin.

…But it was the eight, long, spindly legs possessed by each creature that gave the group pause.

"Ohhhhhh… _That_ kind of spider monkey." Kim weakly observed.

"Are you all right, Possible-san?" Yori inquired, noticing the sudden shift in her companion's mood.

"Yeah, I'm good." Kim assured the oriental girl none-too-convincingly. "It's just that I've got some issues with giant… _(gulp)_ …bugs."

"Spiders aren't bugs! They're _arachnids!"_ Amy insisted from her position atop the altar. "Count the legs!"

"So not counting, and so don't care!" Kim shot back, readying herself for battle and silently hoping that Ron would finish with his gorchy business soon and return to the fight. Giant bugs… or arachnids… or _whatevers…_ was most definitely _his_ department.

"Now you little sweeties go have your fun and make mommy proud." Amy cooed to her, for-want-of-a-better-term, "pets," and the abominations to nature dutifully complied, advancing swiftly upon their hapless prey.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

While I had originally planned on taking this chapter a little deeper into the story, it's proven to be somewhat longer than I anticipated, and this jumped out at me as a good place to end things.

Besides, I've started making a conscious effort lately to write shorter chapters overall. While 15 to 20 pages has historically been my norm, I've recently come to realize that producing such large amounts of work at a stretch is tedious and time consuming, and often leads to burnout, leading in turn to long stretches where I don't write _anything._ Obviously, this is a problem.

My hope is that by concentrating on smaller chapters, I can produce a larger volume of work overall, and at the same time not force my readers to wait so darn long for updates. It's a sort of experiment, I suppose. We'll see where it leads.

_Shinkansen:_ Literally translating to "New Trunk Line," the Shinkansen is a network of high-speed trains linking most major cities on the Japanese islands of Honshu and Kyushu.

First envisioned in the 1930s as a means of linking the home islands to Japan's burgeoning empire, ambitious plans were drawn up for a proposed _"Dangan Ressha."_ (Literally: "Bullet Train") Plans for a tunnel beneath the sea of Japan, linking Kyushu with the Korean Peninsula were put forth, as well as plans for a line linking to the Trans-Siberian Railway in Russia. Such proposals were fanciful and technically infeasible by engineering standards of the day, and as Japan's wartime position worsened into 1943, the project was quietly forgotten.

Following the Japanese surrender in September of 1945, the idea of a national bullet train resurfaced as a means of replacing the nation's war-ravaged infrastructure. Several proposals were submitted and debated, but it was a maverick engineer by the name of Hideo Shima who got the project up and on wheels.

Appointed to the position of Vice President of Engineering for Japanese National Railways in 1956, Shima helped to develop many new techniques and technologies vital to the creation of 200+ mile per hour rail service. It took years of extensive testing to put everything together, but the first Shinkansen made its inaugural run from Tokyo to Osaka on October 1, 1964: Just in time for the opening ceremonies of the Tokyo Olympics. A trip that had previously taken six hours and forty minutes had now been cut to only four hours. It was the dawning of a new era for Japan.

The following decades would see drastic expansion of the Shinkansen system, as well as the introduction of ever-faster trains. A new main line to Hiroshima and Fukuoka was completed in 1975, and new, highly advanced train sets continue to roll out of JNR's shops on a regular basis. Today, after 45 years and nearly 7 billion passengers, the Shinkansen is officially the most heavily traveled high-speed rail network in the world.

_Akama-Jinja:_ The story of the Akama-jinja shrine begins in the late twelfth century, with the eruption of a power struggle between the ruling Heike clan, led by the four-year-old emperor Antoku, and the upstart Genji family. Their simmering resentment of one another erupted into all-out conflict in 1180, setting off the five-year period known throughout Japan as the Genpei War. Throughout the conflict the Heike gradually lost ground, and were driven further and further south, until one day in the year 1185 they finally reached the southwestern most point on the main island of Honshu. From here, there was simply nowhere else left to run.

Looking for a place to make their final stand, the Heike chose to build their encampment on a coastal plain near the city of Shimonoseki. Fronted by the ocean on three sides and steep cliffs on the fourth, the Heike though their position well protected from land attack. It was an assumption that proved fatally mistaken.

The Genjis launched a daring attack down the very cliffs that the Heike had thought impenetrable, throwing the Heike warriors into confusion. Desperate to regroup, the Heike took to the sea, only to be confronted by the Genji navy, under the command of General Minamoto no Yoshitsune. In the resulting battle of Dano-Ura, the tattered remains of the Heike force was slaughtered and the surviving members of the family cast themselves into the sea, preferring death by drowning to a life of servitude under the Genji. Even the young Antoku was not spared from this fate.

Soon after the battle, a shrine was erected by local residents on the point of land closest to the site of the Heike's final battle. It was hoped that by marking the battle in this way, due respect could be paid to the Heike and their spirit of service and sacrifice.

_Hoichi the Earless:_ An interesting piece of mythology that is pretty much exactly as Yori described it. The first and perhaps best-known English translation of the story appears in the book _Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things_ by Lafcadio Hearn. A movie based on Hearn's work and bearing the same name is the source of most Westerner's exposure to the story, although a version of Hoichi's tale also appears in play "The Dream of a Summer Day."

And I never realized it until now, but writing for D. N. Amy is a total kick in the pants! I've never had this much fun writing a bad guy before. I gotta make a mental note to use her more often.

Well my fellow travelers, that's another chapter down and who-knows-how-many to go. I want to thank everyone who has read and reviewed so far, to spite my infrequent posting and propensity toward distraction. It's been an interesting ride so far to be sure, and even I'm not certain just where it's heading next.

As always. Comments, criticisms and snide remarks can be directed to me… well… directly. Take care and have fun!

_Nutzkie…_


	10. The Itsy Bitsy What the bleep is THAT!

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the main reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Ten ~**

Muscles tensed and adrenaline surged as the trio readied themselves for the eminent attack. With a flick of her wrists, Yori deployed her battle fans, and all three assumed the defensive postures of their preferred martial arts. They stared intently in to the eight-eyed simian faces of their adversaries, searching for any indication of the creatures' intent, and indicating in turn that they themselves meant business.

The first strike came when one of the creatures lunged at Yori, using its spindly, rigid leg as a spear. With a sweep of her fans and a pirouette that would have made a world-class ballerina proud, Yori deftly dodged the attack, as well as a follow up strike of the same type.

As Yori backed slowly away from the group, descending into a one-on-one duel with her eight-legged attacker, the remaining creatures turned their attention to the young redhead and the bearded man before them. Two of the creatures moved around to the sides while the others remained in front, staying far enough back to give their genetically altered brethren room to work.

Standing back-to-back, Kim and Sensei waited anxiously for the creatures to come within range. When one made a slashing strike at Kim's legs she leapt gracefully over the blow, then just as quickly dropped down to her knees, arching her back to allow another swipe to pass harmlessly over her. Sensei, in the mean time, deflected two quick blows with hand strikes of his own, then proceeded to catch a third as the creature attempted to run him through with a thrusting attack.

Startled to find its appendage suddenly restrained within the vice-like grip of a man whose appearance indicated no such strength, the creature's surprise suddenly turned to agony as Sensei deftly twisted his wrist and snapped the leg cleanly off just below its first joint.

Shrieking in unworldly agony, it staggered backward, thoroughly disoriented by the sudden turn of events and drawing the attention of al those present.

"Wrongsick!" Kim remarked as she glanced in Sensei's direction, her expression equal parts unease and confusion.

"It would appear our enemy is well-equipped for this battle." Sensei calmly remarked, holding up the section of leg to display the razor-sharp claw that protruded from its tip. "I believe it would be most wise to avoid this part of their anatomy."

"Good call." Kim agreed, turning her attention back to the ongoing battle.

It was at that moment that a familiar figure stumbled forward out of the shadows.

"Yich! Next time we go on a mission, remind me to pack breath mints. Okay buddy?"

"Hink! Okay!" Rufus squeaked, saluting smartly from his position on Ron's shoulder.

"All right then! We are all better and ready for action!" he loftily stated, assuming a flashy martial arts pose and surveying the room. His expression quickly changed however, when he spied the enemy he was facing.

"_Hur-mpff!_ I was wrong!" he yelped, throwing a hand over his mouth and dashing from the room once again.

"_He can inhale a grande-sized chimerito and pull a seven-G turn without so much without so much as a belch, but anything monkey-related makes him hurl."_ Kim thought idly to herself. _"Self-Contradiction: Thy name is 'Stoppable'."_

Yori, meanwhile, had managed to fight her adversary to a stalemate, ducking and deflecting the creatures repeated attacks, but managing an attack of her own. Neither combatant seemed likely to gain the upper hand in this contest, until the oversized arachnid made a crucial mistake.

Rearing up to attack with both its front legs, it left a momentary opening in its defenses. Is wasn't much; maybe half-a-second in duration, but for someone with the young ninja's finely honed skills it was more than enough.

In the blink of an eye, Yori leapt forward, narrowly avoiding the lethal claws as they plunged downward in a vicious stabbing maneuver. Suspended in the air for the briefest of moments, she held one of her fans aloft, revealing all of its intricate, hand-painted colors to the room. Then, in a maneuver that was as graceful as it was deadly, she brought the fan down in an overhand swipe, its sharpened tips slicing effortlessly through every one of the creature's eight eyes.

Once again the chamber was filled with a cacophony of unworldly shrieks as the creature recoiled back, stumbling and flailing about blindly within a world that had suddenly gone dark. Hissing and howling, it lurched wildly about before colliding with one of its comrades: A collision that sent both creatures tumbling to the floor in a tangled mess of fur and shattered, spindly limbs.

From her position on the altar high above, D. N. Amy frowned at the battle unfolding before her. Three of her cuddle-creations were down and the reason was clear. While her latest creations were formidable to be sure, she had nonetheless made the same mistake as nearly every villain before her: She had underestimated the skill of her opponents.

But that didn't mean that the battle was lost. The remainder of her freakish force was still in fighting shape, and a change in tactics would almost certainly send things in a new and most interesting direction.

"Ooh! Ooh! New plan, everyone!" she called out drawing the rapt attention of every monkey-bug in the room. "Divide and conquer, scenario seventeen!"

"Scenario seventeen?" Kim remarked, keeping one wary eye on Amy and an even warier one on her mutant army. "Do I even _want_ to know?"

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough." Amy giggled. If the situation wasn't so serious, her demeanor would have been comical.

Once again, the arachnids turned their attention to their intended prey, but where they had previously acted as individuals, now they moved more as a group. Most formed a wall of containment around the trio, while smaller groups split off and advanced along indirect paths toward their intended victims. In this way, it was clear what Amy meant by the phrase "divide and conquer."

Before they could react, the freakish creatures had divided the group three ways, separating each member from their counterparts. Now isolated from their compatriots, any advantage that teamwork may have provided was gone.

Sizing up the sitch and realizing that things had just taken a turn for the worst, Kim readied herself against the coming onslaught and silently prayed that Ron would finish… _ick…_ that _thing_ he was doing and rejoin the group soon. His notorious monkey issues may get in the way somewhat, but his reputation as Middleton's very own bug whisperer would certainly prove handy at that moment.

"Oy! Make a note, Rufus. We can add 'dry heaves' to the list of things I can do without." The familiar voice told Kim that her prayers had just been answered.

"How nice of you to join us." She called out. "And since when do you have a list of those things?"

"Since a long time ago." Ron flatly stated. "That's going down as number fourteen."

"Number fourteen?"

"Right between guys who wear socks with sandals and people who use the word 'guestimate'."

"Good to know. Now would you mind getting over here and giving us a hand?" Kim was forced to shout as one of the bugs moved between her and Ron, obstructing her view.

"Me? Fight _them?"_ Ron fairly yelped. "I don't know if that's such a good…"

"Then forget fighting and just _talk_ to them!" Kim shouted back, rolling to her left, barely avoiding a devastating blow. "You're the entomological diplomat here!"

"The what-o-logical whosie-mat?"

"It means you negotiate with insects!" she yelled, dodging another blow. The monkey bugs had by now completely surrounded her and were adopting a tactic of quick strikes from multiple angles, with each member of the group dashing out for a fast swipe before retreating to allow for another attack from a different direction. By forcing Kim to defend herself on all sides it was only a matter of time before one of them got through.

"I speak _roach! _Not_ spider"_ Ron corrected. "These guys have an entirely different dialect! And I _think_ one of them just insulted my _mother!"_

"Then get even by kicking their buggy biscuits!"

"Abdomens."

"What?"

"Bugs have abdomens… Not biscuits. Or is that the _thorax?_ I can never remember."

"Anatomy class later, Ron! Right now we need some serious… _Yah-hahhhhhhh!!!"_

"KIM!"

With a speed that would have been the envy of any martial artist, one of the spiders had taken advantage of Kim's distracted state and landed a slashing blow against her midsection. The strike tore open her mission shirt and left a pronounced gash across her belly, just above her navel. Ron's blood was nearly flash-frozen as the vestige of his stricken girlfriend screamed out in pain and dropped to the floor, the bright purple of her shirt quickly darkening with the stain of fresh blood.

This sudden turn for the worst was something Ron was not at all expecting, and when faced with the unexpected, he always turned to a tried and true reaction: He panicked.

Whimpering incoherently and chewing his nails like they were some bizarre form of hard candy, he glanced wildly about the room. Across the open space near the far wall, Sensei and Yori were fighting losing battles against small armies of Amy's insect creations, and his own beautiful KP was down. The fact that she was still moving was of some comfort, but as she struggled to regain her feet the bugs were quickly moving in for the kill. She was defenseless, and the others weren't much better off.

The bottom line was that the only one of them not facing eminent and immediate annihilation was himself, and even that was only a temporary reprieve. For it was a near certainty that once the three most skilled fighters were eliminated, these freaks of nature would turn their attentions to him, and it was doubtful that even all the dumb skills in the world would be enough to protect him from that.

Faced with disaster on all sides and staring at the prospect of agonizing death himself, Ron's sense of panic quickly morphed into something else entirely: Rage.

"Hey you eight-legged freaks!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "You know what I think?! I think _skreeeek hiss gur-rrrrowl click-click gereeeeep!"_

Suddenly the room became deathly quiet as every spider present ceased his attack and turned to face the young blond, a menacing bloodlust gleaming in their multitude of eyes.

"Stoppable-san! What did you say to them?" Yori inquired as the creatures began slowly advancing toward the tow-headed young man.

"I'm… uh… not sure exactly." He nervously admitted. "But loosely translated, I think it means something along the lines of 'Your mother sucks banana slugs.'"

"Hey! That's not very nice!" Amy yelled from her perch on the altar.

"Ewww, gross." Kim exclaimed, slowly rising to her knees while tenderly holding her still bleeding midriff. The wound appeared superficial upon first inspection, but was likely to leave a scar in its wake. Not that this was anything new for her, of course. Her toned, athletic frame bore the faded marks of many such injuries, provided that one looked closely enough.

And there was only one person in the world that was allowed to look at her _that_ close…

And he was currently staring straight into the bloodshot eyes of an army of enraged arachnid monsters.

Ignoring the shooting pain in her belly, she staggered to her feet, determined to help her boyfriend in any way she could. If only she could get to his position, then she'd have a chance.

"_Heh,_ hey guys." Ron nervously waved at the advancing horde. "Ya' know, maybe we got off on the wrong foot here. Would it help any if I apologized for that 'mother' crack?"

The giant insectoids simply growled as they continued their ominous advance.

"I'll take that as a 'no' then." Ron lamented, slowly backing himself against the wall. Taking stock, he quickly realized that he was surrounded on all sides and without a place to hide. His mad running away skills were of no use to him here.

"Ho boy. Definite N.G." He whimpered

Her mind whirling like a tornado, Kim sorted through her options. The distance to Ron was too far to leap, and while an attack on the enemy's rear flank would certainly distract some of the bugs, it wouldn't be nearly enough to buy Ron the time he needed. She had her grapple, but the solid stone walls of the cavern presented no place for it to anchor into. Jumping into the middle of the group would no doubt create a great deal of chaos, but that was just as likely to be dangerous to her cause as it was to be helpful. Force without direction was just random destruction, after all.

But still, there had to be something she could do. She was the girl who could do anything, after all. Looking up from her ruminations, Kim gasped as the first wave of bugs closed the final few yards to Ron's position: She was out of time.

Shrinking back against the wall in a fetal position, Ron watched helplessly as the creature closest to him momentarily crouched, and then with a terrifying scream, launched itself through the air directly toward him, its gleaming simian teeth bared and poised to eviscerate him with deadly efficiency. Reflexively, Ron turned away, raised his hands defensively, and uttered the most effeminate scream he could muster.

Then… quite suddenly… the world went quiet.

What had happened, he wondered. Was he dead? Deaf? Had somebody forgotten to pay the sound bill? It was all very strange: Surreal, to be more precise.

Slowly… cautiously… warily… he opened one solitary eye to peer out at the surrounding world, and what he saw nearly stopped his heart.

The spider that had only moments before been poised to tear him limb from limb was now suspended helplessly in mid-air, its fragile legs flailing wildly about for some sort of footing. Without traction or tether, it was effectively neutralized, unable to either attack or retreat.

As for Ron, through the fog of his wide-eyed amazement he could only utter a solitary and incomplete phrase.

"What the…?"

Without thinking, he dropped his hands for a better view, sending the beast crashing to the floor in an obviously disoriented state, and surprising himself with the sudden change in circumstances. Startled, he lost his balance and fell backward against the wall, flailing his arms crazily over his head as he went. The spider responded by rocketing upward to meet a rather violent impact with the ceiling, followed by an equally violent impact with the floor once more.

Staring intently at the unmoving form before him, Ron slowly glanced down to his own hands, his mind racing the epic battle with Warhok and the way he had mysteriously thrown the nine-foot alien marauder across the battlefield without so much as even touching him. It appeared that this strange ability, whatever it was, had chosen this moment to resurface.

"Ohhh-kaaaaay. _Really_ starting to scare myself here." He whined weakly.

Plaintively, he looked to Kim for some sort of reassurance, but the shocked expression on her face told him that she had witnessed the same events as him, and was having roughly the same reaction.

Then he noticed the traces of blood across her shirt.

Quickly looking to the other members of the group, he took note that their conditions were not much better. Though not as bad as Kim's wound, Yori sported several cuts and lacerations through tears in her gi, many of which had drawn blood, and while he showed no signs of physical injury, Sensei was clearly winded, leaning heavily on one of the stone columns for support. It was clear that the team had fought valiantly, but was now close to defeat. It wouldn't take much to finish them off.

But _that_ sort of thing would have to wait for another day…

Not as long as he was still standing.

Turning his attention back to the unnatural creatures before him, his brown eyes narrowed, momentarily taking on the faints tint of a blue aura. Muscles tensed, fists balled up, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sneer. These arachnid abominations had done enough damage, and it was time to put the vermin down. They were pests, pure and simple… and he was an exterminator with a serious grudge to bear.

Whether because of some simian connection to the power or a simple animalistic sense of danger, the spiders all took a hesitant step back, opening the distance between themselves and the growing threat before them. Their compound eyes became even wider than normal as they sensed the situation changing in a way that did not bode well for their side.

"Now that I have your rapt attention, I'd like to ask you all a question." Ron snarled, stalking forward, causing the spiders to retreat even further. "When a bug hits a windshield, what's the last thing to go through his mind?"

Ron's sneer morphed into a malicious smile as he raised one of his clenched fists above his head, his entire body now radiating a familiar blue glow.

"The answer: His _biscuit!"_

"Hurk, abdomen." Rufus corrected

"Whatever!"

And with that he brought his fist crashing down with thunderous force onto the solid stone floor.

The result was nothing less than a wave of destruction. Stone tiles buckled and cracked under the onslaught as a shockwave surged outward from the point of impact. Human observers were thrown to the floor and mutant spiders were tossed violently about, shrieking and hissing as they careened uncontrolled through the maelstrom before finally being slammed against the wall on the far side of the room. It all took only moments to transpire, but when it was over the center of the room had been swept clean of all insects: Their lifeless bodies laying still and mute amongst a tangled web of shattered limbs, rock dust and matted fur.

"Anybody got a squeegee?" Ron coldly remarked, his glowing aura quickly fading.

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Amy squealed in anguish, dropping to her knees and collapsing atop the altar. "My babies! What have you done to my babies?"

"Hey now, don't beat yourself up over all of this." Ron consoled the renegade researcher, stepping toward Amy's sobbing, quivering form. "I mean, look on the bright side. In a couple of weeks you'll probably be working on an all-new abomination to God and nature and unleashing it into an unsuspecting world."

"Yeah, that's true." Amy sniffed, her mood somewhat brightened by the prospect of future experiments. "I always do land on my feet."

"Ya' see! That's the spirit!" Ron encouraged as Kim and the others joined him at the base of the altar. "Maybe you could even come up with something useful, like crossing an ostrich with a turkey."

"I do not understand, Stoppable-san." Yori inquired, stepping forward to restrain Amy with a leather thong she pulled from a concealed pouch on her gi. "Why would someone want to combine these creatures in such way?"

"With Ron, it's all about the Thanksgiving leftovers." Kim pointed out, rolling her eyes slightly for effect.

"Mmmmmm… Turkey sandwiches for a whole month." Ron sighed dreamily.

"Good suggestion," Amy agreed, "but I already tried that and it didn't go so well." She sighed dejectedly.

"Really?" Ron wondered aloud. "I just know I'm gonna regret asking this, but what exactly _did_ you get?"

"A large bird that kept burying its head in the cranberries."

"Natch." Ron groaned, thinking that next time he'd listen to his instincts.

"Ask a silly question, get a silly answer." Kim remarked, stepping up to place a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay, by the way?"

"Me?" he spun around, asking in shock. "You're the one who's bleeding! Do you need a doctor? Stitches? An X-ray? Last rites?" He dropped down to his knees to make a closer inspection of the wound.

"Ron, it's fine! Really!" she assured him, pushing him lightly away. "It's just a scratch is all."

"Well at least let me put something on it." He insisted, reaching for the med kit he carried in his utility belt. "I think I've got some Bactine around here somewhere."

Kim had to agree, that seemed a sensible precaution. She gently lifted up the hem of her shirt, allowing Ron to apply some of the antiseptic spray to the area in question.

"There! All done!" Ron triumphantly announced, replacing the bottle's protective cap. "Doctor Stoppable is in the house!"

"Well, Doctor Stoppable," Kim played along, "while you're down there, aren't you going to kiss it and make it better."

"Huh?" Ron sputtered in confusion. "Seriously, KP. Don't you think that's a little…"

It was then that he looked up to see his girlfriend in what he could only describe as a mid-level puppy dog pout with just a hint of playfulness mixed in.

"Really?" he asked.

Kim smiled and cocked her head to one side, telling him all that he needed to know.

Looking back down to the soft skin before him, he paused momentarily before slowly leaning in an gently, delicately, planting the lightest of kisses just below the reddened but no longer bleeding laceration, his lips lightly caressing the still sensitive flesh.

Kim closed her eyes and sighed as she felt an involuntary shudder pass over her. To spite his often clumsy and awkward nature, Ron was somehow possessed the softest and most sensual of touches. It was like having heaven in a bottle, she sometimes thought, and she never got tired of inviting that side of him to come out and play.

"Better?" Ron softly asked.

"Oh yeah. Most def." Kim softly moaned.

A subdued grunting suddenly drew the teens' attention, as they both looked up to the vestige of a stoic Sensei observing the scene with his eternally unreadable expression. Beside him, Yori attempted concealing her own reaction as well, but for once in her life was actually faltering slightly, allowing the slightest of uncomfortable expressions to creep across her face.

"_Heh-heh-ahem…_ yeah. That looks like it'll do ya'." Ron stammered embarrassedly, rising to his feet. "Just take two aspirin and call… um… somebody."

"Will do." Kim agreed, pulling down the hem of her torn shirt and silently praying that the blush she was now experiencing wasn't nearly as visible as it felt like it was.

"All righty then. What now?" Ron asked, hoping to move the conversation along to other topics.

"A little light reading." Kim informed him, starting up the steps to the top of the altar. Sure enough, concealed within the shadows to the back of the raised platform, words had been crudely carved into the solid rock. Ron quickly produced a small LED flashlight and illuminated the roughly-hewn words as Kim read them aloud.

"_Where fields of green meet ocean blue…_

_And surf runs red, and colors true…_

_And pickets of white mark all that's lost…_

_Reminding us all of freedom's cost."_

"Ah jeez. Just for once, why can these things be easy?" Ron bemoaned.

"What? You were expecting a big arrow and a neon sign saying 'this way'?" Kim asked.

"Well I was hoping."

"A most ambiguous statement." Yori observed, carefully looking over the engraved text. "There appears to be an extensive use of metaphor in the writer's diction."

"Welcome to the story of our recent lives." Kim lamented, noting that Doctor DaLive seemed to have some sort of thing for word games and double meanings. "Sometimes its like we're chasing after a Batman villain."

"Either that or the dude got a thesaurus for Christmas." Ron added.

"Thesaurus?" Kim inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Where did you learn a word like that?"

"Internet."

"Natch."

"At the risk of seeming presumptuous," Sensei suddenly broke in, "I would like to suggest a course of action. Since we have retrieved the information for which we came, and have nothing more to gain by staying here, I suggest we return to the surface and place Miss Hall in the custody of the local authorities. Then we can return to Yamanuchi unhindered and pursue matters further."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Kim agreed, pausing only to take a digital photograph of the enigmatic carvings for future reference. "C'mon everyone! Let's blow this pop stand!"

"Right behind you, KP." Ron confirmed, quickening his pace to stay close behind the retreating redhead and the rest of the group. "'Cause this place gives me a total case of the creeps."

And up the stairs they went, leaving behind some slowly dying torches, a darkened room, and a pile of mangled mutant spiders whose ultimate destiny was unknown.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well it's been not quite two weeks now since my last update, and I'm pleased to announce that so far my new tactic of writing shorter chapters seems to be paying off. I managed to crank this installment out in a grand total of about ten days, which is a pace that I haven't seen out of myself since… well… never, actually. It's amazing how much of a difference simply stirring things up a bit can make.

And so our heroes have another piece of the linguistic puzzle to… well… puzzle over. As per previous agreements, a hearty hand clasp and a copy of last year's calendar to the lucky contestant who correctly guesses the identity of the clue. As always you need not be present to win, employees are ineligible, void where prohibited, see store for details, one per customer, patent pending, prosecutors will be violated, etcetera, etcetera…

Now don't anyone go drifting away, folks! Our favorite couple isn't done turning Japanese just yet. There's still more than a few lingering lose ends to be tied up before they can safely leave the land of sushi, fast trains and bad-a** cartoons. Sparks are sure to fly when un-aired tensions and hidden anxieties see the light of day, so grab a beer and stick around for the light show.

As for the rest, you all know the drill: Review equals reply, so send me your questions, comments, criticisms and snide remarks, and I'll do my best to respond with the level of thoughtfulness and articulation that is deserved. (For some of you that may simply be an automated chain e-mail marked "resident," but hey… I call 'em the way I see 'em! Sue me if you don't like it!)

Catch y'all on the rebound, clowns!

_Nutzkie…_


	11. Admissions, Anxieties & Full Disclosure

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Eleven ~**

The trip back to Yamanuchi had proven to be an uneventful one, (although after a battle to the death with giant mutated spiders, _anything_ seems uneventful.) The local police had accepted Amy into their custody with characteristic Japanese courtesy, and had informed Global Justice of the situation. Doctor Director herself had dispatched a security detail to arrive first thing in the morning, and since the municipal jail seemed adequate to hold the renegade geneticist, the quartet had said their goodbyes and caught the evening's southbound Shinkansen, looking forward to a relaxing ride home.

Now, back within the sheltered walls of the secluded mountain compound, there was time to decompress and reflect on the previous day's events. Soon enough, everyone knew, reality would come calling and the two teen heroes would be forced to leave. There were other matters to tend to… other villains to thwart… other clues to seek. As peaceful and comfortable as the ancient school may be, it was not their home, and everyone knew this full well.

For Kim and Ron, it was a chance to find themselves in a familiar setting, taking shelter from the afternoon sun in the shade of the same pagoda from which they had witnessed sunset theatrics just two nights before. The mountain vistas were as spectacular as ever, and the company only lent to the atmosphere. In a crazy, topsy-turvy world of supervillains, scholastic angst and worries about an uncertain future, moments like this were to be savored: A brief and all-too-rare respite from the trials and tribulations that so often seemed to plague them wherever they went.

With Ron leaning casual on an ornamental railing, gazing absently out at the valley beyond, Kim found herself at his side, arm draped comfortably over his shoulders, enjoying both the view and the company. The past few days had been difficult but productive, and now with their bags packed and their ride readied, it was time for a well-deserved reward.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Kim asked absently.

"…Will probably get you change." Ron cracked, earning a light punch in the ribs from Kim's free hand. While she prided herself as an open-minded person, there were simply some things that she wouldn't tolerate, and Ron criticizing himself was one of them.

"Seriously, though." She continued. "What's on your mind right now?"

"The usual." Was his vague reply.

"Meaning?"

"You know… Normal stuff."

"This from the guy who claims to never be normal." Kim observed, casting him a sideways glance.

"Okay, okay. I was just thinking what a waste it was to be busting Amy like we did." Ron finally admitted.

"How do you figure?" Kim asked, surprised that her boyfriend suddenly seemed to be taking the villain's side.

"Well, I was just thinking that even though most of her creations are beyond whacked, they do seem to work. I mean, those spider monkey things were completely wrongsick, but they were still functional animals, and were pretty good at doing their usual animal stuff."

"And you think there's something wasteful about that?"

"Well sure there is! I mean, c'mon! Just think about what sorts useful things you could get from this. A seeing-eye dog with eagle vision… A gopher that can dig up and disarm land mines… A cat that's not constantly copping an attitude… The possibilities are almost endless!"

Kim could only blink silently and repeatedly in response. Had Ron actually just made a complex, insightful, valid point?

"Uhhh… Yeah, Ron." She stammered. "That's… ummm… really well said. Really."

"Really? I guess even a blind pig finds an acorn every once in a while. _Oooff."_

Kim had landed another blow in his side.

"And the, _(cough),_ view is nice too." He choked out.

"Yeah, it is." Kim agreed, sliding up a little bit tighter against him. "Sometimes I would swear that you're so lucky, getting to go to school here."

"Indeed, Possible-san, for even the mountains themselves have much to teach us." A sage voice observed behind them. "They know their place and cannot be moved from it, even when faced with the greatest of force."

"Oh hey, Sensei." Ron greeted cheerfully, turning to face his teacher. "We didn't hear you come up there."

The wizened ninja master nodded slightly at the acknowledgement of his stealthy skills, then cleared his throat to speak his business.

"I must apologize to both of you for the interruption, but I require the presence of Stoppable-san." He said in his characteristically expressionless tone.

"Ah. I take it this is one of those private, ninja-type talks? Your ears only and whatnot?" Ron inquired.

"Indeed."

"Gotcha." Ron agreed, turning to Kim. "So I guess I'll catch up with you in a little bit then?" he asked.

"You'd better." Kim quipped playfully. "You're my ride home."

Then, with a quick peck on the nose, she stepped back and allowed the goofily grinning blond to follow after his teacher.

"This way, Stoppable-san." Sensei indicated, pointing to a nearby gravel path that led toward a secluded portion of the campus. It wasn't but a few moments before a sea of lush greenery and gently wafting cherry blossoms engulfed the pair.

Then, from the shadow of a nearby maple tree, a stealthy figure emerged. Yori glanced briefly down the path, which her master and the Chosen One had just taken. Skilful and smooth as ever, Sensei had played his part of their plan like the true master he was. Now it was her turn.

Silent as the mountains themselves, she turned and started walking swiftly toward the pagoda.

* * *

Making his way through the school grounds, Ron dutifully followed his master, noting how the old man's flowing robes and smooth movements gave him the appearance of floating rather than walking. The ability to exercise such fine control of his physical movements was one of many martial arts techniques that Ron had never mastered, and it astounded him to see someone exercise it so effortlessly. Monkey powers may be cool in their own right, he sometimes pondered, but there were just some things that weren't part of that package.

Keeping one eye on Sensei and the other on the occasionally uneven path beneath him, Ron followed the revered instructor through the massive gates of the central courtyard and out into the grounds beyond. The land here was untended and natural, a far cry from the perfectly manicured gardens and lawns of the school compound, but it was all incredibly beautiful nonetheless.

"I sense that something troubles you greatly, Chosen One." Sensei offered, his eyes never deviating from the path before him.

"You might say that." Ron responded.

"Tell me then, what brings such turmoil to your heart."

"Well, I guess it kinda all has to do with the whole monkey-power thing."

"Indeed, the power of the ancients dwells strong within you." Sensei observed. "I have sensed this for some time now, and I believe your destiny is calling now louder, than ever before. The strength within you is growing with the size of…"

"Yeah, I know! It's growing like a weed, and that's the problem!"

"But such is your destiny, Chosen One." The old man pointed out. "Why do you find your own destiny so discomforting?"

"Oh, I don't know… Maybe because my _destiny_ seems to be calling all the shots lately!" Ron sarcastically pointed out. "I mean, look at me! I'm blowing-up boulders and blasting away buildings with my bare fists, almost! It's like I've got some seriously freaky super powers going on here, and I've got no clue how far they go! Just how much _am_ I capable of, anyway? And what if it turns out I can't control it all? What if I wind up hurting people with this? Innocent people! Then what, huh?"

Sensei waited for Ron's mini-rant to play itself out, thoughtfully stroking his beard. Once the young boy had vented enough, he offered his analysis.

"Indeed, you pose valid questions, Stoppable-san. Questions of grave importance."

"That's easy for you to say, Sensei." Ron observed dryly. "You're not the one packing a bazooka in each hand."

"This is true." Sensei acknowledged. "I myself have never experienced the powers first hand. Indeed, before your arrival at this school, I had only read of the powers in the ancient texts."

"Well do _they_ have anything helpful to say on the subject?" Ron asked dejectedly. "'Cause I'm all ears if they do."

"Sadly, they do not offer us anything specific to the situation."

"Of course they don't." Ron sighed. "That would be making it too easy."

"The biggest challenge you face, young warrior, is that your circumstances are unique. Few people throughout history have been chosen by the power, and none of them to our knowledge were chosen at such a young age as you."

"I have long believed that your difficulties with the power 'coming and going,' as you put it, were attributable to your age at the time." Sensei continued. "The power sensed you were not ready for its full measure, and so it concealed itself from you, achieving a mostly dormant state until such time that you were ready to embrace its full potential."

"And you think I'm ready now?" Ron asked.

"It does not matter what I think: Only what the power thinks." Sensei offered. "But yes. It would seem that the power within you is slowly awakening, gradually revealing itself so that you may come to grasp its true measure and extent."

"You keep saying 'the power this' and 'the power that.'" Ron observed. "The power has chosen me… has concealed itself from me… You make it sound like the power has a mind of its own."

"That is because it does, Stoppable-san."

"Come again?"

Sensei suddenly stopped in place and spun around, causing Ron to pull up short and barely avoid falling flat on his face. Looking around, Ron noticed that they had arrived at their destination: The very same waterfall and pond that he and Hannah had discovered prior to the arrival of Monkey Fist and the Yono.

"Oh my child, the powers you hold within you are not mere attributes." Sensei poignantly stated, gesturing for Ron to sit on a nearby rock. "They are far more than a simple set of abilities or skills. They are, in fact, a life force unto themselves: A disembodied chi, if you will, and they possess a strength of will all their own."

"What? So you mean I've got this whole other person running around inside me or something?" Ron shouted, his freak-out meter quickly rising.

"Essentially yes." Sensei admitted, his voice and demeanor as calm as ever. "But I assure you it is not exactly as you think."

"Well then explain it to me, dude-san!" Ron whined, running his hands over himself and looking down the inside of his shirt. "'Cause I think I'm in need of a serious talking down here!"

"The power is born of the ancients." Sensei explained. "It is the spiritual embodiment of the mystical monkey monks who created the it: Their strength, their skills, their wisdom, their courage. When a warrior is chosen by these powers… when he or she is deemed worthy, the powers bond themselves to that person's chi, becoming one with their host, but still retaining their own identity and awareness. They represent not so much a separate entity, as another you."

"Great. So I've got a split personality now." Ron panned. "As if I wasn't crazy enough already."

"Do not be so quick to dismiss the powers as mere nuisance, Stoppable-san." Sensei chided. "While it is true that the things I am telling you are unusual and foreign…"

"You can say that again."

"…It is also true that they are a source of great strength, great ability… even great protection."

"Protection?" Ron inquired, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'protection?'"

"The power is aware, young one." The old man continued. "It can see the world around you with eyes far keener than your own. It can react to dangers you yourself are not aware of, with speed and strength far greater than you alone can muster. It can project forces that you do not comprehend, and it can withhold those same forces when circumstance calls for restraint."

"What? So you mean the power won't _let_ me hurt anyone that I'm not supposed to." Ron asked, his spirits suddenly raising a notch or two. If he was hearing Sensei right, this most certainly _was_ good news.

"That is the intent of the power as I understand it, yes." Sensei confirmed. "Although training of the mind and body to become more in tune with the power is essential, the power is in its essence a force of good, and as such it will not allow evil or injustice to flow from its use."

"Coolio!" Ron gasped, feeling like a condemned man who had just been granted a pardon by the Governor. "That is _such_ a load off, not having to worry about blowing up some small country like Monaco or Liechtenstein or Indianapolis or whatever."

Sensei simply stared blankly at his student. "Curious" didn't even begin to describe the young man before him, but to spite all of his shortcomings, the powers had chosen to embrace him: The first human being in over a thousand years to be so honored. He did not understand the choice, but he did not question it either. The powers had the wisdom of the ages on their side, while he was but a mere mortal. His place was to honor that choice and assist in his student's development, not second-guess.

But being the wise and astute observer that he was, he could sense something else amiss. Issues of mystical powers and responsibility were not the only things causing turmoil in the young man's mind.

"There is something else that troubles you Stoppable-san, is there not?"

Ron's hand instinctively shot up to nervously rub the back of his neck and his eyes suspiciously dropped to the ground.

"_Heh._ You always could read me like a book." He observed, casting his teacher a sideways glance.

"Indeed."

"Okay, so it's like this: Remember what I said when you contacted me on graduation night…?"

* * *

"S'cuse me?"

Kim stood motionless. Wide-eyed with one eyebrow cocked inquisitively, she wondered if she had heard right.

"I am inquiring if you would care to join me for a walk, Possible-san." Yori reiterated. "Yamanuchi is a place of great beauty, and it is Sensei's wish that you see experience as much of it as possible before you depart."

"Ohhhhh-kaaaaaaaaay." Kim regarded the young shinobi with thinly veiled suspicion. "I suppose a walk would do us both some good." Truth be told, she had no idea what Yori's game was, but she was sure there was more to it than the young ninja was letting on.

But on the plus side, Yamanuchi was an expansive place with many secluded areas: Perfect for hiding a body if things came to that.

Allowing Yori to lead the way, the pair followed a stone path down a hillside, passing through a sea of ferns and ornamental shrubbery before turning to follow the bank of a small creek. Brilliantly colored koi swam lazily through the shallow pools that formed along the watercourse while the occasional butterfly drifted past on gossamer breezes that only they could see.

Yori stopped at the edge of a particularly deep pool, staring intently into the turquoise water, seemingly trying to divine some deeper meaning from its rippling surface. Silence reigned across the pond for several moments. Then, Yori spoke.

"There is a question that I wish to ask you, Possible-san." She said.

"_Ho boy. Here it comes."_ Kim thought sullenly to herself.

"Do you find my presence objectionable?"

"What? Oh no, noooooo. _(Pfft!)_ Not at all!" Kim lied, none too convincingly. "Whatever makes you think that?"

Yori took note of the redhead's reaction, and the blatantly over-the-top response was all but direct confirmation of her suspicions. Sensei was right when he said there were things that needed to be sorted out.

"You need not conceal your true feelings, Possible-san." Yori reassured her. "I am quite capable of conducting myself in an appropriate and becoming manner."

Kim heaved a heavy sigh of resignation. She always had been a terrible actor, and this was a freakin' _ninja_ she was dealing with, for cryin' out loud. The thought that she could put anything over on Yori was ludicrous to the point of being laughable.

"Okay, I'll admit that I've been having the occasional 'ish' where you're involved," she reluctantly admitted. "But that's my problem. I'm the one that needs to deal."

"But that is where you are wrong, Possible-san." Yori replied, turning to face the young redhead. This 'ish,' as you put it, affects both of us. It is therefore a problem shared between us."

"Yeah, I'll bet you're all about the sharing." Kim grumbled under her breath, suddenly blushing when she realized her words had been considerably louder than intended.

"So it as Sensei feared then." Yori observed, casting her eyes morosely downward. "Our feelings for Stoppable-san are the cause of hidden friction between us."

"Ah-hah! Ja'cuse!" Kim shouted, severely startling Yori. "So you admit you have feelings for Ron!"

"Hai. I do indeed hold feelings of affection for Stoppable-san." Yori said, quickly regaining her composure. "But if you will recall, I never said that I did not hold such feelings."

"Wha? But… but… in the cave… with the lava…" Kim sputtered, her mental gears quickly seizing up.

"I said that Stoppable-san was your destiny. I never said anything regarding my own feelings."

"_Why you sneaky-little, back-stabbing, boyfriend-stealing…"_ Kim silently fumed, her face contorting with barely contained rage. Yori had played her like a dime store harmonica, she suddenly felt, and it took all of her self-control to refrain from giving the ninja a first-hand demonstration of all her 16 forms of Kung Fu.

"You didn't say anything!" She finally managed to bark out.

"You did not ask."

"_All right, sister! It's GO time!"_ she thought, instinctively clenching her fists.

"But I must ask why it is that you feel threatened by my feelings?" Yori inquired.

"Why do I feel threatened?" Kim exclaimed sarcastically. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because some hot-looking Asian girl with sneaky ninja skills and the ability to beat me in a fair fight has designs on my _boyfriend!"_

"But I can assure you that you have nothing to fear from me." Yori offered.

"I ain't afraid of you." Kim snarled. "You think I'm afraid of you?"

"Certainly not. And I apologize for my words." Yori quickly retracted, sensing how might have taken that the wrong way. "What I meant to say was that I do not have, as you say, _designs_ on Stoppable-san."

"But you just said you have feelings for him." Kim pointed out.

"That does not mean that I plan to interfere between you in any way." Yori emphatically stated. "My personal feelings regarding the matter are irrelevant."

"Okay, you just lost me." Kim said, rubbing her temples. She could feel a major brain pain coming on.

Looking around, Yori slowly stepped over to a nearby cherry tree; its pink blossoms forming a nearly solid canopy over one section of the path. Gently taking hold of one branch, she closely studied the fragile petals, drinking in their complex beauty before continuing.

"It is as the cherry tree." Yori explained. "The purpose of the tree is to produce blossoms such as this. Light, delicate, beautiful blossoms. Although the tree may envy the other trees of the garden, and wish to bear the fruits born by them, it is destined to produce cherry blossoms, and the garden is a better place for obeying that destiny."

"Yeah, mad love for the ninja horticulture." Kim panned. "Now would you mind translating that into English?"

"I realize that it is difficult for you to understand." Yori sighed. "Being an American, you are used to acting from a perspective of self-interest. Your culture emphasizes individualism and personal rights. From a young age, you are taught to 'look out for number one,' as it were.

"But for we Japanese it is far different. Our culture has conditioned us to believe that the needs of society outweigh the needs of the individual. We think of others first, before ourselves. I know this seems odd to you, but it has served our society well for over three thousand years."

"So you're saying that because the sitch is bigger than you, you're willing to just stand aside?" Kim asked, mouth agape. "Just like that?"

"Just like that, Possible-san."

"I don't believe you."

"I would not expect you to." Yori conceded. "As I said, western culture carries within it a highly developed sense of self. For individuals born of the culture, the Japanese philosophy of service and self-sacrifice seems strange… even alien. But it is nonetheless our way, and we take great personal honor in upholding this code with every breath we take.

"Yes, I have feelings for Stoppable-san. The bond of honor that we share occupies a very special place within my heart. But be that as it may, the powers of the universe have seen fit not to place me by his side: That place is given to you. I do not know who is destined to be my partner in life, but I do know that I must trust in that destiny. No good can come from my pursuing a path that I am not destined to take."

"Fatalistic much?" Kim asked, critically arching her eyebrows.

"If that is how you wish to view my decision, then that is your right." Yori solemnly conceded. "But the fact remains that you need not fear my interference between yourself and Stoppable-san."

Kim stood by the water's edge, silent as a statue, regarding the lithe young figure before her. As incredible as it may seem for someone to be so willing to deny her own feelings, Yori had said nothing that contradicted what she already knew regarding Japanese culture. It was just that knowing about something from an academic perspective versus seeing it live and in person; well that was the sort of thing that could really throw a girl for a loop.

The cards were officially all out on the table now: Kim had openly admitted to her anxieties, and Yori had honestly stated that she had no intention of coming between her and her Ron. The tension between them, which had been almost palpable ever since Sky Rat had touched down, now quickly ebbed away like the current of the stream. The two young women found themselves facing each other, just a few feet apart, a cascade of fluffy pink blossoms falling all around them.

"I know I've said this before Yori, but it bears repeating." Kim admitted with a smile. "In your own special way, you totally rock."

"Domo." Yori replied, the faintest trace of a blush spreading across her cheeks. "As do you, Possible-san. As do you."

With smiles beaming and twin sighs of relief, the two girls quickly came together to share a brief embrace, thankful for the comfort that something as simple as open communication could afford them.

"If it is not to bold, I would ask that you promise me one thing though." Yori whispered as the two of them separated.

"Shoot." Kim replied.

"When the time comes, I would much appreciate an invitation to the wedding."

"I think that can be arranged." Kim laughed in response, eliciting an equally broad smile and a smattering of laughter from Yori.

And with that, the two young women started back up the trail from which they had come.

* * *

"I agree. You indeed face quite the conundrum, Stoppable-san."

"The co-number-what?"

"It means you have a problem."

"Ah, gotcha."

"So the state of your continuing education troubles you?"

"That's one way to put it, yeah." Ron sighed, thrusting his hands into his pockets and staring dejectedly at the ground. "It seems like I've applied to every school on the planet, but everyone either ignores me or treats my app like it's some kind of joke. I swear, it's like the entire educational system is laughing at me. Not that that's anything new." He added.

"Indeed, this is of great concern." Sensei observed. "As the mind and body are inextricably linked, as one is neglected, the other will suffer also."

"Yeah, well with all due respect Sensei, I really don't think the principal of a ninja school understands the intricacies of the college life."

"Yes, you would think so, but you would be wrong." Sensei informed his pupil. "I possess great understanding of this topic."

"You would?" Ron asked in surprise, suddenly jerking his gaze upward to meet Sensei's.

"Indeed." Sensei confirmed. "You see, Stoppable-san, The way of the ninja involves far more than martial arts mastery and mysticism. As warriors of the shadows, stealth plays an integral role in our daily lives."

"Yeah, yeah… I get the whole 'hiding in plain sight' thing." Ron responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Ah, but I don not believe that you do." Sensei pointed out. "For hiding in plain sight involves much more than simple invisibility spells. It is the ability to blend in: To blend seamlessly into any crowd… any culture… any surroundings. To be able to step into any situation or circumstance, and fit so perfectly into that place that you become wholly unnoticeable. That is the true application of stealth, and it can only be achieved through great knowledge."

"Knowledge of what? Ron asked, scratching his head in a very perplexed manner. He may not have understood Sensei's point at the moment, but he was definitely interested in the old man's words.

"Knowledge of everything, young one." Sensei explained in his typical grandfatherly tone. "To blend in such a way requires intimate knowledge of the culture which you plan to infiltrate, as well as the skills and mannerisms required of the position which you plan to assume. You must possess a knowledge of the world normally obtained by spending a lifetime growing up within that culture, and you must be so comfortable as to make it look like the most natural thing in the world."

"And so, what? You're saying that you teach all of that stuff here? In addition to all the badical ninja moves and stuff?"

"Hai. That is _exactly_ what I am saying."

"So you're not just a ninja school… You're a ninja _university!"_

"You are correct in your observation, Chosen One. Here at Yamanuchi, the curriculum we offer is comparable to any institution of higher learning. We are fully accredited and have many graduates who have gone on to build highly successful lives and careers outside the realm of the shadows we call home."

"Whoa. That's pretty heavy dude." Ron gasped. "I like, totally never knew that."

"That is because you did not ask, Stoppable-san." Sensei pointed out.

"Okay. Fair enough." Ron conceded. "But I really don't see how any of this helps me. I'm still looking at enrollment in the University for Chronically Rejected Losers."

"If I may be so bold as to offer a suggestion, Stoppable-san," Sensei spoke up, "perhaps your difficulty lies not in your grades of the schools to which you applied, but within your methodology."

"My methodology?"

"Hai. Tell me, Stoppable-san. How did you decide which schools were to receive your applications?"

"Oh I don't know." Ron admitted. "I guess I just started with the 'A's and worked my way down the list."

"So you are saying there was no greater strategy in your decision-making process?"

"Pretty much. I just kinda figured that if I threw enough apps out there one of 'em was bound to stick. Guess I was wrong about that too."

Sensei simply stroked his beard and grunted in understanding before continuing.

"Then perhaps you should ask yourself a different question, Stoppable-san. Rather than asking what schools will take you, ask what schools _you_ would be willing to accept."

Ron only response was to stare blankly at his teacher, prompting a further explanation from the older man.

"I fear this decision has far more gravity than you realize. You see, when picking a college you are not simply choosing an education: You are choosing a future. This is a decision whose consequences will spread out like ripples on a still pond, affecting important elements of your life for many years to come. Therefore, the issue at hand is not so much which institution will accept you, as it is what you wish to do with your life."

Ron closed his eyes and thought long and hard about his master's words. Sensei really did have some good points he had to admit. He speculated that it was probably one of those things that came from simply being around long enough: After a while, you've seen, heard and done it all.

But while Sensei's words were filled with wisdom, his own reply was not, for as hard as he might think about it, he really didn't have an answer for his master. What did he want to do with his life? Honestly, other than spend it with Kim, he didn't have a clue. He simply hadn't given the matter much thought.

"I… uh… don't really know." He stammered, somewhat embarrassed to admit that something as important as his future hadn't even warranted serious thought on his part.

"Then you must search your soul, Chosen One." Sensei explained. "For once you have made your decision, you will find it surprising how many doors will open to you."

"You really think so?" Ron asked, only semi-believing his mentor.

"Of this I am quite certain." Sensei confirmed, nodding emphatically. "For it is only once you have chosen your destination that you can truly choose a path."

"Okay then. If you say so, dude-san." Ron conceded as the pair turned their backs toward the waterfall and resumed walking.

* * *

"Alright, we're off the deck. Talk to me, KP."

"Take a heading of one-eight-zero degrees. I've got a course laid in taking us due south, over the Ryukyu Islands. We'll rendezvous with a KC-10 out of Okinawa, top off, then go sub-orbital injection for a quick flight home. With any luck we'll be back in time for dinner."

"On brain loaf night? Coolio!"

"Ugh! Please don't remind me."

"Why? What's wrong with your mom's meatloaf?"

"Let's just say it's not so much the substance that bothers me as the presentation."

"Still bothered by that time you brothers fought over who got the cerebellum, huh?"

"Ferociously."

"Huh. I suppose I can see that."

At least they were airborne again. After their conversations with Sensei and Yori, and a few heartfelt goodbyes, the teenaged couple had donned their flight suits once again, strapped themselves in and vertically ascended from the grounds of the ancient academy. Now, with several hundred feet of air safely under his wings, Ron pivoted the nose toward the southern horizon and began the transition from vertical to horizontal flight. Exhaust ports tilted upward and snapped into place as Sky Rat quickly accelerated out past Mach 0.5, climbing ever higher into a clear blue sky. Below them the coast of Kyushu could be seen as a shimmering band of brilliant white and turquoise blue, it's regal curves accentuated by clusters of small islands that clung to its frothy white shores like moths drawn to a cosmic campfire. It was a breathtaking sight.

"So what did Sensei want to talk to you about?" Kim finally asked, looking up from her controls to meet Ron's gaze in one of the rear view mirrors that sprouted from the canopy's interior framework.

"Oh, nothing special." Ron remarked casually. "He asked how the whole monkey-power thing was working out for me, and we talked a little bit about the college sitch."

"Really? What did he have to say about that?"

"Well he used a lot of complicated school-type words, but essentially he said I need to figure out what I want to do, then focus on the colleges that can give that to me. He said the whole 'mass-mail-and-pray' strategy I was using isn't going to get it done."

"Huh. Sounds like Sensei's a pretty smart guy." Kim pointed out. "So what's your decision then?"

"What's what decision?"

"What do you want to do with the rest of your life?"

"You mean besides spending it with you?"

It took Kim a moment to recover from this statement: Ron had the most wonderfully unexpected way of saying the sweetest things. When she finally did regain her voice, she was grateful that her intense blushing was concealed by her oxygen mask.

"Yeah. Besides spending it with me." She breathlessly replied.

"Honestly, I've got nothing." He morosely admitted. "I was just hoping to go somewhere close to wherever it is you're going."

That little admission gave the teen heroine pause. She hadn't told anyone, but she had yet to officially accept any of the numerous scholarship offers she had received. The small mountain of acceptance letters still lay in the back of her closet, mostly unopened and completely unanswered. She knew her parents would have a collective aneurysm if they ever found out, but she had been waiting, hoping against hope that Ron would be accepted somewhere. And when he was, she could then simply reach into the pile, grab whatever school was closest to him, and fire off an acceptance letter. She was sure that even at this late date, any school in the world would jump at the chance to have her. The important issue was that she had Ron.

It was a dangerous and foolish game she was playing: Essentially a game of Russian roulette being played with her own future, but she didn't care. Ron may live in fear of holding her back, but she knew the real score: The one thing that would hold her back most of all was being separated from him. He wasn't an obstruction that kept her from reaching the stars: He was the reason she could dare to reach for them in the first place.

"Yeah, well you just keep thinking about it." She consoled him. "I'm sure it will all work out in the end."

She noted that Ron's mood seemed to perk up somewhat with those words. Now if only she could manage to convince herself…

"Soooooooo, we're set and locked onto course heading one-eight-zero degrees." Ron reported to the redhead seated behind him. "Proceeding to angels three, check."

"Roger that." Kim snappily replied. "Headin' due south at thirty thousand feet."

They were on their way home.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

First things first, a great big round of hearty congratulations to all those who correctly guessed the identity of chapter ten's riddle. Our heroes are headed to the Normandy coast of France for a visit to the Colleville-sur-Mer cemetery overlooking Omaha Beach: A sobering place if there ever was one.

Rabula Tasa gets the gold for being the first correct response, with additional kudos going out to Mack53B, JCS1966, Adm. Antilles, Screaming Phoenix, Captain Kodak and Deuces Wild. This was by far the best response I've received for any riddle so far. Way to be, guys! Way to be!

I hope I didn't overplay things in the Kim/Yori and Ron/Sensei dynamics here. I've always been impressed by how similar Kim and Yori truly are. They seem the sort of people who could be great friends if it weren't for their mutual interest in Ron. If they could ever get past that, they've got the makings of a beautiful friendship.

As for Ron and Sensei, this was obviously the place for Ron to go regarding questions of his rapidly developing powers. The college issues, on the other hand, were not so obvious.

However, given his sometimes strained relationship with his own parents, I figure Sensei is the most likely person for Ron to approach when seeking fatherly advice. The teacher/student relationship here transcends the classroom environment and encompasses something more of a "life coach" role I've always felt. And to spite his outward appearance, Sensei has always impressed me as being far worldlier that he let's on. That's the problem with ninjas: You never see the whole picture.

And as a side note, I've written another story that fits roughly between this chapter and the previous one. It's called "And The World Stood Still", and you can find it on my profile page. Be forewarned though: It's pretty heavily steeped in historical references, so if you don't have at least an abiding interest in the subject, it may be a difficult read. Ultimately, it's your own call to make.

Oh, and the "KC-10" that Kim mentions near the end is the KC-10 Extender: A long-range in-flight refueling tanker currently in use by the United States Air Force, although multiple onboard systems allow for refueling of U.S. Navy and NATO aircraft as well. Based upon the design of the McDonnell Douglass DC-10-30CF civilian airliner, 59 Extenders are currently in service and are forecasted to remain so until the year 2043.

Although most KC-10s are based at either Travis AFB in California or McGuire AFB in New Jersey, the aircraft in this story is based out of Kadena AFB in Okinawa Prefecture, Japan: The largest and most active American military base in the far east.

Well I suppose that just about wraps things up for this chapter. Tune in next time when reality comes calling, and Ron tries to take a message.

Laters!

_Nutzkie…_


	12. Blackbirds & Lovebirds

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Twelve ~**

"Hmmmmmm… Let's see now…

"Green crop-top and blue capris? Been there… done that.

"Pink top and black skirt? Too flirty.

"Cuffed jeans? _SO_ over.

"Nana's sun dress? Get real!"

Time and time again, one after another, combinations and ideas were supposed, considered, and rejected. Looks and styles of all variations and complexities withered under the critical eye of their creator. International arms reduction treaties had been enacted with less negotiation and animosity.

But such was the way of women and fashion, and even teenage heroines are not immune to its seductions. She held the next contender aloft in front of her, carefully considering the possibilities.

"The beige peasant top? Well, Ron always _did_ say he had a fantasy about playing with the laces. It's a good combination of outward modesty and veiled flirtation. It's perfect!"

Her target now selected, she slipped the item in question over her head, allowing the fullness of her auburn mane to fall naturally down her back. A quick brushing and a pair of earrings to accentuate the look and she was ready for action. Grabbing a small duffle bag from the dresser, she smiled, thinking of a particular blonde-haired, freckle-faced young man who would soon not have the satisfaction of knowing what had hit him.

She had it all planned out, her natural Kimness leaving nothing to chance. They would hit the mall for some shopping, (something which Ron was most often surprisingly unobjectionable to), then hit Bueno Nacho for a quick lunch. Following that, they would head out to Lake Middleton for an afternoon of swimming and fun in the sun. Her smile doubled its intensity as she thought of just what was inside the duffle she now carried slung under her arm.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, she had taken the liberty last week of obtaining some new swimwear: An intriguing little two-piece that was sure to grab her boyfriend's attention, and made her seriously consider packing her mother's defibrillator as a precautionary measure.

She fairly skipped down the stairs, barely paying notice to the specter of her brothers who were occupying places at the kitchen table, utterly absorbed it seemed in some new high-tech wonderment that was sure to wow scholars and raise their parents' insurance premiums yet again.

Giving herself one final check in the hallway mirror, she confirmed that her appearance was most definitely "good to go." Then, almost as if on cue, the doorbell chimed its familiar two notes.

For once, her brothers didn't maul each other half to death in a mad dash to answer the doorbell's call. With a calm that belied her enthusiasm, she strode to the front door and opened it to a sight that made her heart sink.

She had expected to be greeted by the smiling vestige of her boyfriend, dressed in his usual red hockey jersey and beaming one of his trademark goofy grins. Instead, he was wearing a one-piece flight suit, and his expression was anything but bright.

"Why do I already not like where this is going?" she groaned.

"Sorry." Ron admitted. "But I just got the call like twenty minutes ago. Something's come up."

"No kidding." Kim mumbled under her breath. "Give me a minute and I'll go get changed."

"No need, KP." Ron informed her, drawing a surprised expression. "I've got this one covered."

"Wait… You're flying solo on this one?"

"Pretty much."

"And may I ask _why?"_

"Now, now! Don't get all tweaked out of shape!" Ron attempted to calm the fuming redhead before him.

"I am _so_ not tweaked!"

"Yeeeeeeeaaaahhh… Anyway, you know there's nothing I like better than flying with you…"

"And nacos."

"Yeah, that too." Ron whimsically admitted, subconsciously licking his lips.

"But?"

"But this isn't my call." He continued. "It's coming from a lot higher up on the food-slash-command chain."

"And did the higher-ups give a reason behind this pearl of infinite wisdom?" She was perturbed by the prospect of being grounded without notice, and she was even more determined to find out why.

"Well it sort of has to do with the plane we're using." Ron stammered, awkwardly averting his gaze. "It's a single-occupancy sort of thing."

Now it was Kim's turn to be confused.

"So what? You're not taking Sky Rat?"

"Not the right bird for the job." Ron replied. "From what I gather, this is some sort of recon mission. They want me in something with a little more juice than an F-14."

"So exactly what bird are we talking about." She asked, eyeing her boyfriend suspiciously.

"_(Ahem) _SR-71." He nervously coughed into his fist.

"What?" Kim cried out.

"Wow! No way!" Tim exclaimed, sticking his head out of the kitchen.

"You get to fly the _Blackbird?_ That's too cool!" Jim added, emerging right beside his brother. Somehow, when their sister's conversation had turned to the topic of high-performance aircraft, their interest had been piqued.

"Hicka-bicka-boo!"

"Hoosha!"

"But doesn't that thing fly, like, scary fast at the edge of space, or something?" Kim worriedly asked. Even with his tremendous skills and extensive training, the thought of her Ron pushing the limits of endurance in that way sent chills down her spine… And not the _good_ kind of chills.

"Mach three point two at angels nine. But it has a perfect safety record." He replied, trying to calm his girlfriend's fears. "It can pretty much outrun anything that anyone throws at it."

"Yeah, and besides… It's not the enemy fire that you have to worry about." Jim volunteered.

"Totally! Depressurization is the real enemy." Tim added. "One leak in that pressure suit and Ron's blood will totally boil."

"Are you kidding? Kinetic shock is the real threat." Jim shot back. "If the airframe comes apart at speed, he'll be atomized in milliseconds."

"Seriously? You think a mid-air break up is more likely than a simple pressure seal going bad?"

"Hey! I'm just saying is all."

"You need to have your head checked."

"And you need to have your _face_ checked!"

"Care to force the issue on that front, bro?"

"That's enough out of you two!" Kim broke in, physically placing herself between her two feuding siblings. "And for the record, can we _please_ not talk about ways for my boyfriend to meet an untimely demise!"

"We were only trying to help."

"Well you _weren't!_ So why don't you cretins just go find someplace quiet and blow each other up or something?"

The twins simply shrugged and walked away, undoubtedly to take their sister up on at least part of her suggestion.

"So," Kim lamented, turning back toward Ron. "I guess this means our date is off."

"'Fraid so." Ron morosely admitted. "Rain check?"

"Of course, silly." She confirmed, gently reaching up to cup his cheek. "There'll be other dates."

"Okay then. I guess I'm off into the wild blue yonder."

"And Ron…"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful." This last statement was delivered almost pleadingly in its tone.

"Though I fly through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil," Ron loftily stated, "for I am at eighty thousand feet and climbing."

With that bit of impromptu poetry, he turned and walked away, leaving Kim to linger at the door, watching his slowly retreating form until he disappeared around the corner and out of sight. He had gone on solo missions before: That much was nothing new. But every time he did, she felt as though he was taking a small piece of her with him. Something very real inside of her felt compelled to be with him whenever he left the confines of solid ground, and staying behind in this way felt somehow wrong.

Slowly, she closed the door and headed back up to her room, the duffle that only moments before had contained so much promise now being dragged forlornly across the floor behind her. Such a wonderful day… now no longer.

* * *

Faint traces of clouds zipped past as the Global Justice hover jet zoomed through the atmosphere. Flying at over 30,000 feet, its ultra quiet engines gave no hint of its presence to ground dwellers who didn't happen to already be looking up as it passed. It's presence, much like its destination and payload, was a mystery.

A mystery to everyone except those onboard, that is… and a select few others who were on a strict need-to-know basis.

"So we're looking at… what… here, exactly?" a very confused young man asked, shuffling through the briefing report that he had just been given.

"Hurk, yeah. Whatup?" his pink and hairless companion echoed.

"First off, you're headed to a top-secret G.J. airbase in the Black Hills of South Dakota." The face on the LCD video screen informed him. "Upon arrival, you will be properly equipped by on site personnel and escorted to your aircraft. From there you will ascend to eighty-two thousand feet and proceed on a due-northerly track to the point noted on the map in your report."

"That would be 'Point Alpha,' right?"

"Correct. Upon reaching said waypoint, you will then take a course heading of one-four-zero degrees and initiate sensor scan. Scanning will be performed continuously until such time that you reach the end of your run at 'Point Omega,' also noted on your map. At that point you will return to base for your post-mission debriefing."

"Sounds like a plan then." Ron concurred, eyeballing his map closely. "So what exactly are we looking for, if you don't mind my asking?"

"We're not sure what to expect, exactly." The uniform-clad figure admitted with a shrug. "For the last few weeks we've been tracking a new super villain. He's set up a lair in Manitoba and has taken to calling himself 'Lord Deep Freeze.'"

"_Hnk._ Oh brother." Rufus squeaked, slapping a tiny paw over his face.

"Lord Deep… Oh for cryin' out loud. Would it _kill_ these guys to show some creativity once in a while?" Ron lamented. "I mean, if they'd just put in some effort every now and then, _maybe_ people might respect them a little more."

"Wait 'till you hear the plot, Commander."

"What? Is it some sort of weather control scheme to divert a blizzard and freeze Florida or something?"

"Close. It's a plan to invade the United States with an army of mind-controlled moose."

"Mind… controlled… moose? _That's_ the big plot du jour?" Ron incredulously stammered. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

"'Fraid so. Although intel is still working on the potential for a flying-squirrel angle."

"Naturally."

"Anyway, the mad moose master of Manitoba…"

"Killer alliteration, dude."

"Thank you. …Has spent the last several weeks putting together a stockpile of some pretty high-tech equipment. We're looking to get a better picture of how it all fits together. G.J. joint command seems to think that it's a hair-brained scheme and doomed to fail on its own, but they want to be sure."

"Gotcha, dude. The corporal and I will go beat the grass and see what crawls out."

At the mention of his title, the tiny rodent climbed onto his master's shoulder and saluted smartly.

"Good to know, sir." The video voice replied. "Good luck on your assignment. Over and out."

The screen went blank, leaving a young man with blond hair and a rodent with no hair to contemplate what the next few hours would hold for them.

* * *

It was a very dejected Kim Possible who dragged herself through the doors of the Middleton Mall that afternoon. With her day of Ronshine shot to pieces, she had spent more than an hour sulking around the house before the ever-present annoyance that was her siblings drove her out into the outside world. From there, the mall seemed to be the only logical choice of destination.

Lethargically, she made her way past the ever-active food court and toward the one place that offered some measure of comfort: Her beloved Club Banana.

"_Maybe a few good sales will cheer me up."_ She silently lamented to herself. She had just started to drown her sorrows in a rack of new fall sweater fashions when a familiar voice called out to her from across the doldrums.

"Hey, girlfriend! How's it goin'!"

"Oh, hey Monique." Kim offered, turning to face her BFF. "I'm doing all right, I guess."

"Humph. Well you could've fooled me." Monique observed, giving the redhead a once-over. "Looks like you've got some serious baggage you're hauling 'round, and I'm betting it's BF related."

"How do you always know?" Kim inquired, slightly perturbed by her best friend's ability to read her like a book.

"Check the title: Queen of the social scene." The ebony-skinned beauty offered, thrusting both thumbs toward herself. "It's my job to know these things. So TME already."

"Tell you everything?"

"You're learning."

"Welllll… It's kind of a long story…"

"In that case, give me five minutes. I've got a break coming up real quick, and there's two smoothies out there with our names on them."

"Well, I don't know…"

"My treat."

"Deal!"

* * *

"Okay, so I've been in roomier spots. Hey Rufus? Would you mind scootching over just a bit?"

"Hurk, sorry."

Ron sighed as he tried to get comfortable, thinking that on some level he shouldn't be surprised. The Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird was built to do many things, but provide a relaxing and comfortable ride was not one of them. The entire design was really quite sparse: Little more than a flying gas can with two mammoth engines and just enough room left over for a pilot and some high-tech sensors. Ron felt as though the ground crew had used a shoehorn to get him into the cockpit.

Glancing back from the still-open canopy, he took note of the menacing machine upon whose nose he now sat. With its massive size and razor-thin wings, the Blackbird was living proof of the concept that you could make anything fly, provided you gave it enough thrust. But all appearances of fragility and airworthiness aside, the SR-71 was one of the most ominous-looking things to ever take to the air. It's midnight-black exterior with blood-red accents was dramatic on its own, and the dagger-shaped fuselage was downright frightening as its wide, flat profile gradually blended into a pair of delta wings, each sprouting a gargantuan engine with a giant cone-shaped spike protruding from its intake.

To his left, the bland-looking, olive-drab box of the start cart was screaming away, its twin V-8 Diesels pegged to the red line as it spun up the Blackbird's massive J-58 engines. The whirling turbine blades produced a high-pitched whine that only increased in pitch as the RPMs steadily built. It was an impressive sound, but as he understood it, an only barely necessary one…

For the Pratt & Whitney J-58 engine had occasionally been referred to as "a fanjet feeding a ramjet." The only purpose served by the compressors was to feed air into the engines while the Blackbird was sitting stationary on the ground. Once sufficient speed was attained, the craft's own velocity would provide the airflow necessary for operation.

Stepping in from the sidelines, a member of the ground crew now drew Ron's attention, holding one index finger aloft while whipping the other around in a circular motion above his head.

"_Light off number one."_ Ron thought to himself, reaching down for the switch that would start the highly-volatile fuel flowing into the massive combustion chamber behind him. Within seconds a great billowing cloud of fuel spray erupted from the Blackbird's tail, and Ron's hand quickly moved to another set of controls, flipping up a protective cover and pressing a switch marked "ignition."

There was a momentary puff of green flame behind the great jet as a few ounces of triethylborane were injected into the fuel mix, spontaneously combusting upon contact with the air and igniting the Blackbird's viscous JP-7 fuel. With the massive engine now roaring in agreement, ground crewmen quickly disconnected the start cart and maneuvered it to the aircraft's right side, where the process was soon repeated. Then, with no sound of its own, the armored glass canopy fell shut around him: The great bird was up and running.

Members of the ground crew now scurried about like multi-colored ants, disconnecting auxiliary power supplies and other umbilical lines from the wings and fuselage. Wheel chocks were roughly yanked from beneath the tires, and the most highly advanced aircraft ever built by the hands of man was ready to take to the sky once more.

"Ghost Eye Five, this is Specter Seven." The controller in the tower called over the radio. "You may taxi when ready. Proceed to runway two-seven-lima and await further instructions. Over."

"Ghost Eye Five, Roger. Taxing to runway two-seven-lima. Will contact when in position. Out."

He released the parking brake and nudged the throttle forward, coaxing the high-tech jet to roll slowly away from its hangar. Turning off the tarmac and onto the taxiway, he angled left toward the far end of the 12,600-foot runway that formed the heart of this highly classified installation. In just a few short minutes he would be in the air, flying into a great white unknown.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"So spill, girl. Dish your BFF the down low."

Kim glanced about the busy food court as she aimlessly stirred her smoothie. A plaintive sigh escaped her lips.

"It's no big, really." She said. "It's just that I had this big, spankin' day planned, and Ron got called on a mission."

"Uh huh. And did these plans involve that stylin' bikini you picked up at the end of shift last Tuesday?"

"Maybe." Kim smiled, looking coyly down at her smoothie.

"Ahhhhh… The plot thickens." Monique smiled in return, leaning back with a knowing gleam in her eyes. "So why aren't you and flyboy together on this one?"

"Different mission than what we normally run." Kim admitted with a sigh. "Today's flight is strictly a solo affair."

"And you're feeling all left behind-ish?"

"Well I _was_ left behind."

"True that. But you gotta know that this was coming, girlfriend. I mean, you guys have done solo missions before, haven't you?"

"It's not that, Mo." Kim admitted. "I know Ron's flown alone before, and sure, I get a little worried when he does, but this is different. This was the one day in nearly a month that we were gonna have to ourselves, and this darn mission wrecked it all!" By the time Kim finished, her voice had descended to a menacing growl.

"So you're sayin' that you're not so much worried as you are tweaked."

"Yeah, I guess. Pretty much." Kim huffed, crossing her arms and sinking back in her chair.

"So what about tomorrow, then?" Monique offered. "You've got two days off, and the weather isn't supposed to change. What's the harm in postponing the party one day?"

"There's nothing wrong with putting things off 'till tomorrow, until Wade chimes in again." Kim pointed out. "I can see it now: Ron and I will just be walking out the door when the Kimmunicator beeps, Wade gives us the sitch, and ten minutes later We're boarding a hoverjet in my front yard, heading off to God knows where to fight God knows who."

"Now-now, girlfriend. You can't really know that'll happen."

"It _always_ happens, Monique! I can almost set my watch by it!" Kim nearly yelled. "I think Ron actually does!"

"So _that's_ why that boy is always running late." Monique remarked, quickly catching herself and returning her attention to the issue at hand. "Anyway, you say this interruption thing is a major problem, huh?"

"Ferociously major."

"So why don't you just hide the Kimmunicator, or for that matter, turn the blasted thing off?"

"Not that easy, Monique. Wade designed the Kimmunicator with a remote activation protocol. Even if I kill it, he can still power it up from his end, and with all the cyber-robotic features, he can track us down and give us the sitch anywhere."

"Ah." Monique observed, thinking it likely that the young web master had way too much time on his hands. "So the real source of the problem is our techno-buddy and his inability to set personal boundaries?"

"Almost invariably." Kim sighed again. "If it's not one thing, then it's another. Global Justice… the Eagles… a cat up a tree… It's always something."

"So if Wade was somehow indisposed, that would leave things open for the two of you." The ebony-skinned fashion maven noted, stroking her chin and smiling malevolently.

"Probably," Kim sullenly admitted, "but he hardly ever leaves his room, and he's never out of touch with his computer sys… Wait… what are you getting at?" she asked, suddenly catching on to her friend's change of demeanor.

"You leave that to me." Monique said, standing up and finishing off the last of her smoothie. "My break's about over and I gotta get back. Just make your plans and be ready to go by ten o'clock tomorrow." She gave her redheaded friend a conspiratorial wink before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

* * *

This was it… The moment that all his years of training and hard work had been leading up to. His options were clear and the tools were before him. I was all or nothing, one wrong move or poor decision spelling the difference between joyous success, and catastrophic failure. Carefully, yet deftly, he reviewed his plan of action and executed.

"Do you have any fives?"

"_Hurk…_ Go fish."

Grumbling, he reached for the draw pile. Now a good ten minutes into its recon sweep, the Blackbird was ghosting along on autopilot, leaving man and mole rat with nothing to do but entertain themselves with a deck of cards that Ron had smuggled onboard.

And as usual, the hairless rodent was beating the pants off of him.

"_A three... Figures."_ He silently groused. _"The one card I DON'T need."_ Inserting the card into the others he held, Ron absent-mindedly glanced out the windscreen at the world beyond, noting that it seemed as though he could see all of it. From this altitude, more than eight miles above the surface of the earth, the world took on a decidedly otherworldly appearance. The sky became a hue much darker than normal, clouds appeared as nearly featureless blankets, and the curvature of the earth became clearly visible. To his left he could see the entire coastline of Hudson Bay, and straight ahead the form of the Great Lakes was just coming into view. This was about as high as you could fly without being awarded astronaut wings for your trouble.

All in all, it was an experience far more exciting that the information coming in over the monitors. From what the scans were showing, the villain du jour may have been successful at stockpiling equipment, but wasn't much for putting it together. Half of his collection wasn't even functional, and the rest seemed to be beyond random. It was as if this mysterious madman had simply grabbed anything with a microprocessor and hoped it could be turned into something useful. Clearly, the threat he posed ranked somewhere between negligible and non-existent.

After a cursory check of the instruments, Ron was just returning his attention back to the cards in his hand when an alarm bell rang loudly in his earpiece. Wincing at the piercing noise, he tucked his cards under his seat cushion and scanned the display panels before him: As task that he was quickly joined in by Rufus, clad in his own small pressure suit.

"Okay… What've we got? What've we got?" he said to no one in particular. With the complicated array of gauges and video screens, it took a few seconds to locate the source of the commotion.

"Apparently our baddie-of-the-week isn't as techno-challenged as we thought." He observed, glancing down at his pet. "Missile launch detected, seven miles ahead and tracking."

Man and mole rat locked gazes, sharing a long and meaningful look, each one knowing exactly the greater meaning carried by this development…

And then they both broke out laughing.

"Bwahahahahahaha! Oh that's RICH!" Ron guffawed. "The moose man wants to take a shot at us! What's wrong? His pea shooter broken or something?"

Rufus leaned back onto his haunches and grasped his tiny pink belly, laughing so hard that he fell off of his masters lap and wound up a giggling lump on the cockpit floor.

Through tear-blurred vision, Ron regarded the pink, quivering ball as Rufus tucked himself under the rudder pedals to finish laughing in private. Still giggling himself, he reached up to wipe his eyes… and knocked his knuckles against the clear plastic of his helmet's face shield.

"Oh, right." He observed, abandoning the task and reaching down to his left hip. With a smooth motion he eased the throttle forward, bringing the massive J-58 engines to full afterburner. The most powerful aircraft engines ever built by man, the gargantuan ramjets were soon producing thrust to the tune of 65,000 pounds, and the Blackbird fairly leapt forward, quickly achieving a speed of more than 2,300 miles per hour.

"_See ya, moose dude… And eat my afterburners."_ Ron thought to himself as the approaching missile was quickly left in the dust.

* * *

The hour was beyond late and rapidly approaching early when the olive-drab humvee rolled to a stop in front of the average-looking single-family home. The subdued rumble of its diesel engine was barely enough to break the tranquility of the suburban night as the passenger's door swung open, emitting an exhausted and bedraggled form onto the sidewalk.

"Thanks for the lift, man." The individual indicated to the vehicle's driver, offering a weak and tired-looking salute with his gratitude.

"My pleasure, sir." The driver replied. "You have a good night now."

"Yeah. Whatever's left of it." The figure replied, shutting the door and waving for the driver to leave. After a few moments of watching the vehicle's tail lights retreat into the darkness, he turned and trudged up the walk to the modest two-story dwelling, pausing only long enough to place his key in the lock, allowing entry to himself and the small companion that lay slumped over his shoulder.

With a labored gate that betrayed his fatigue, he ambled through the darkened house. His parents and his adopted sister, he knew, were off visiting relatives back east, leaving the house to himself for the duration of the week. Slowly and methodically, he mounted the two sets of stairs to his attic bedroom, not even bothering with the troublesome detail of turning on the light. Rufus stirred and leapt deftly onto the bedside table as his owner began fumbling with the buttons of his aviator's jump suit. After two of the troublesome fasteners had been successfully negotiated, he abandoned the task in favor of his well-worn mattress, which he unceremoniously flopped onto, face first.

Burying his face into the softness of the pillow, he eagerly welcomed slumber's sweet embrace. He was therefore quite disappointed when his attempts at rest were disturbed by the distinct sensation of someone, or something, tugging at his boots.

"Seriously, Rufus. They're fine where they are." He mumbled into the pillow. He turned his head to glance across the room… and immediately noticed his pet soundly asleep atop the nightstand.

"It's not Rufus, and they're _not_ fine where they are." A familiar voice softly called out from the darkness.

"KP?" Ron groaned in confusion. Between the darkened room and his fatigued state, he had completely failed to notice anyone else in the room with him. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you got home okay, silly." Kim chided as she finished untying his laces and began pulling one of the boots free. "Is there a problem with that?"

"No, no… I guess not." Ron admitted with a yawn. "But how did you get in here, anyway?"

"I've got a key. Remember?"

"Oh, right."

"I take it everything went okay, then?"

"Can of corn." He said in a tired but confident tone. "Everything went down like clockwork."

"Spankin'." Kim replied, relief evident in her voice. "So what's it like, flying the Blackbird?" she asked, extricating the other boot and letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor.

"Like being stuffed into a soup can and shot out of a cannon." He described. "Seriously, those whirly rides at the fair ain't got nothing on ol' 'black beauty.'"

"Carnival rides usually don't have that kind of R&D budget." Kim pointed out. "But at least everything came out okay in the end."

"Yeah, true that." Ron sighed, lifting his head to look at his girlfriend. Even in the dark, her emerald-green eyes shone like twin jewels. "Man, what day is it anyway?"

"What _day_ is it?"

"Yeah. I've been awake so long that I've lost track. Is it Monday or Tuesday?"

"It's Wednesday, Ron."

"Well in that case somebody owes me a Tuesday." He opined, dropping his head back down to the pillow. "Either that or two Mondays."

"Two Mondays?"

"Or whatever. I'm flexible."

"Yeeeeahhh… How about a good night's rest instead?"

"That'll work."

"Spankin! 'Cause it works for me too!" Kim said playfully, stepping lightly around the end of the bed to sit on the edge of the mattress. Within moments, she was curled up next to her nearly comatose boyfriend.

"Uh, KP?" Ron's sleep-deprived brain was just functional enough to register what was happening. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but don't you have your own home to go to?"

"Not tonight I don't." Kim informed him, matter-of-factly. "Daddy's away on business at Cape Canaveral all week, Mom's at home hosting a sleepover for the Tweebs, and I've spent the whole day missing and worrying about you. I'm _so_ not gonna spend the whole night missing you even more, and dodging errant rocketry experiments to boot."

"Oh. Well I guess I'm down with that then." Ron shrugged, rolling over and slipping an arm around his girlfriend's torso: A gesture that she readily accepted and reciprocated.

It wasn't long before both teens were sleeping soundly in each other's arms.

* * *

It was late the next morning when a well-worn sub compact rolled up in front of yet another suburban, single-family home. Putting the vehicle in park and killing the ignition, the driver laboriously cranked down the window, silently ruing the fact that everything seemed to take more effort when driving a third-hand car that hailed from an era when Detroit still ruled and eight-tracks were all the rage.

With her view now clear, Monique silently and thoughtfully regarded the home before her. Appearing both innocuous and anonymous from the outside, the unassuming exterior of the structure gave no clue as to the vital importance it held for the ebony-skinned fashion maven. This was an important mission for her… a promise she had made to her BFF… and her target lurked somewhere inside those walls.

For this was the home of Wade Load, and for her mission to succeed she would need to accomplish the impossible. She would infiltrate his elaborate security systems, overcome his legendary agoraphobia, and render his ever multi-tasking mind inert with an innocuous activity so insidious that it would grab hold of his laser-like focus and warp it until there was nothing left but the intellectual equivalent of warm tapioca pudding.

Fortunately for her, she had come prepared for just such a task.

Twirling a clear plastic case between her long, slender fingers, she carefully studied the glimmering, silver disk it contained. The latest installment of the "Thundercrash" gaming series wouldn't be officially released for another month yet, but beta versions of the highly anticipated program had been floating through the gaming community for weeks. Designed as a marketing tool for wooing wholesalers and managers of major retail chains, a few stray copies had filtered down to the store level, where they quickly became worth their weight in gold for the gaming faithful. To hold one of these advanced copies was to gaze upon the Holy Grail itself, and obtaining one was the digital equivalent of climbing Mount Everest, swimming the English Channel and running across Death Valley, all in a single afternoon.

Fortunately, for the self-described fashion queen of the tri-city area, such Herculean tasks were exactly her forte.

For although very few would ever suspect it, the Middleton Mall was its very own subculture, and within the ranks of its various employees there existed a grape vine that would be the envy of Ernest and Julio Gallo. It was the basis for a sort of barter system: A retail black market if you will, and everything from information to electronics to the latest fashions could be had, provided that one knew the proper people.

And Monique Jenkins was nothing if not connected to all the right people.

It had taken an entire afternoon of intense negotiation, and the calling in of several favors, but in the end a complex three-way trade between Club Banana, Game Shack and a nearby "Killer Kicks" shoe franchise had made the acquisition possible.

And so, armed with a weapon that was sure to render her target as putty in her hands, she exited the ancient vehicle and started up the front walk. There was much at stake, and for the sake of her best friend, she would not be denied.

* * *

For once, the descriptive term "spankin'" was a gross understatement.

Kim had no idea what Monique had done to pry Wade's attention away from his global surveillance systems, but whatever it had been, she resolved to profusely thank her raven-haired friend later.

So far, her day out with Ron had been beyond anything that she could have hoped for. Together they had spent more than two hours at the mall, during which she had scored a handful of outfits that were sure to keep their date nights interesting for some time to come. Of course Ron had been more than happy to serve as fashion consultant, rendering his verdict as she modeled each ensemble in the truest spirit of haut couture.

Then, with the mall safely behind them, they had spent an hour in their usual booth at Bueno Nacho, giggling like small children as they fed each other nachos until the cheese dribbled down their chins in unkempt orange blobs. The gooey, pasteurized revelry had only paused briefly when Ron had commented on the conspicuous lack of interruption by Wade. His girlfriend's knowing smile, however, was enough to assure him that for once he need not fear the Kimmunicator's infernal four-tone call.

Once lunch had been both sufficiently eaten and worn, it was off to the shores of Lake Middleton for an afternoon of fun in the sun. The delays and frustrations of the previous day were more than forgotten when Kim had delicately untied her sarong to reveal the stylish two-piece underneath. Ron's eyes had momentarily rolled back in his head as he fell over, prompting Kim to revive him with her own special version of "mouth-to-mouth" resuscitation.

Following Ron's bout of medical hysterics and the ensuing tonsil-hockey session they had hit the water, alternately swimming and having splash fights, and giving Kim cause for some chagrin in the process. As the stronger swimmer of the two, she could easily outdistance her struggling boyfriend, but when it came to the other side of the equation, she found herself sorely outmatched. With his large hands Ron held an easy advantage, and it wasn't long before he had a wall of water moving over her.

Before they knew it, nearly an hour had passed, and exhaustion forced them to reluctantly abandon the water for the familiar comforts of dry land. Returning to their neatly-spread beach towels, the couple collapsed onto the warm sand and were soon lounging in the sun's warm embrace, Kim leaning back against Ron, her head nestled against his chest, his strong arms wrapped tenderly about her shoulders.

Snuggling her lithe form back even further into Ron's embrace, she contemplated the changes he had undergone in the past year. Along with dramatically improved grades and a growth spurt that had left him three inches taller than her, his physical build had undergone a metamorphosis of sorts. Where once there had been only loose skin on a whisper-thin frame, there was now taut and well-defined muscle, all thanks to a tough-as-nails flight-training regimen.

It has been noted on more than one occasion that if one wants to have a good chance of losing a fight, then they should pick that fight with a Marine. But if one wants to be _certain_ of losing, however, then they should fight an Air Force pilot. The strength required to pull nine Gs without blacking out is unimaginable to most people, and requires nothing less than peak physical condition from those few who dare to tempt fate and brave its dangers. For the unassuming and lanky 18-year-old man behind her, it was a strength that very few would ever suspect him capable of possessing, but he had it in spades. She knew this full well.

Why all those fancy-pants college admissions people couldn't see it was beyond her.

It was something that had been bothering her for months now, and the passage of time had only served to strengthen her fears. Sure, she put on a brave face for Ron's sake, but inside she was a nervous wreck, and she knew it was only a matter of time before Ron got wise. Ultimately, she supposed, she would have to bury her natural Kimness and trust that luck, much as it had in the past, would be on Ron's side. She would convince herself that things would ultimately work out for the best, placing her faith in the hands of fate, even as strongly as such things ran contrary her nature.

But now was not the time for such dismal thoughts. It was a time for enjoying the moment: A time to simply relax and revel in the presence of the man who she loved. With the late afternoon sun beating down on them and Ron's arms around her, cradling her protectively as if she was something precious, she could let all of life's troubles fall by the wayside. Mission work… family squabbles… the college sitch… all of it ebbed away like the tide, leaving nothing but her and her Ron, and the love that they shared. It was a love that had changed the world in the past, and promised to continue doing so well into the future.

…And if it could somehow manage to change their own little corner of the world for the better, then they would certainly have no complaints.

But that was the future, and it would arrive on its own soon enough. For now, there was just the two of them, lost in each other, and nothing else could ever matter more.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I'd like to start off by apologizing for this chapter being a little short on the action side of things. After the last three installments, I thought it wise to give our heroes a little down time to relax and catch their collective breath. As a writer, you really need to give these characters a break once in a while, after all. Otherwise strokes and pulmonary embolisms become an increasingly important part of the story line, and not in a good way.

_Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird:_ A legend in the world of aeronautics, the SR-71 is widely regarded as the most technologically advanced aircraft to ever leave the ground. Revolutionary when it first flew on December 22nd of 1964, it featured many new and innovative design elements that have long since become standard on most military aircraft. Features such as titanium construction, forward wing extensions known as "chines" and an astro-inertial navigation system gave the Blackbird unparalleled speed and performance. On July 28th of 1976, a Blackbird set the world record for sustained altitude and speed, clocking in at 2,193.167 miles per hour at a height of 85,135 feet: A record that still stands to this day.

As for Ron's impromptu poem in the opening scene, I regret to inform you that our boy isn't quite as creative as he would have us believe. While his line about _"Though I fly through the valley of the shadow of death…"_ is an obvious nod to Psalm 23:4 from the Bible, more specifically it's an exact quotation of a sign that spent years hanging over the watch commander's desk of the 9th Strategic Reconnaissance Wing at Beale Air Force Base in California. As one of the very few units to be tasked with flying the SR-71, the Ninth Recon's influence upon the history of this great and mighty bird cannot be understated.

And besides… I've spent _years_ wanting to put Ron into something that cool!

So now that our favorite couple has had some much-needed R&R, it will soon be time for them to hit the road once again. Europe beckons with whispered promises of adventure and intrigue, and who would we be to ignore her siren call. As always, read and review at your leisure, and I'll catch everyone in the next chapter.

Take care, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	13. Crossing the Pond

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Thirteen ~**

There are certain phrases within the English language: Specific collections of words that although technically correct in both syntax and structure, will never be expressed as part of a coherent sentence.

These are the non-sequiturs: Ideas and statements so convoluted in their logic… so self contradictory in nature… that no able-minded or otherwise lucid person would ever dare utter them without jest. Phrases such as "Please saw my legs off" and "Hand me that piano" populate this list.

Another good example would be "Hey, check out the flying sports coupe!"

However that is exactly what one would have said if they had been on a ship in the eastern Atlantic Ocean on a particular August afternoon, and happened to look up at just the right moment.

Of course for the occupant of said vehicle, such an occurrence was nothing out of the ordinary. Cruising along at 29,000 feet with the Sloth on autopilot, Kim took little note of the seemingly extraordinary circumstances that surrounded her. Reduced by the car's autopilot to the role of mere passenger for this portion of the flight, she had taken the time as an opportunity to polish her nails and catch up on some much-anticipated reading.

Looking up from the glossy pages of her magazine, she chanced a glance at the outside world, still oddly mesmerized by the presence of her traveling companion this day. Even from a half-mile distant, the RB-52/D Stratofortress filled the car's window, it's bull-nosed fuselage and expansive swept wings dwarfing even the few clouds that happened to drift past.

It turns out, Kim was quickly learning, that when you're in the anti-villainy business, there are few things more valuable than good intelligence. Whether it was Wade with his surveillance satellites, electronic eavesdropping or a deeply planted mole within HenchCo, there were many tools in the spook's arsenal, and they all required some means of deployment.

And it was for this purpose that G.J. had gone back to a well-worn page in their playbook, combing the desert sands outside of Tucson, looking for yet another bone yard bargain. As always, the arid landscape provided ample pickings for an engineer with a flair toward the creative, and it wasn't long before the G.J. team had found its mark.

The aging Stratofort had originally been built in the early 1960s. Tried and true, she had served her country nobly, flying numerous sorties throughout the conflict in Vietnam, participating in such operations such as Arc Light, Rolling Thunder and Linebacker II. Decommissioned in 1983 after being forced from front line service in favor of the more modern B-52/H variants, she had been parked in the desert and stripped for parts, slowly being reduced to a forlorn-looking, derelict hulk by the time the Eagles came calling.

But like the master sculptor who can see the statue trapped inside the stone, the Eagles had seen potential within the hollowed-out shell. Starting from the bare essentials, they had given the tired old girl a full makeover, ripping out frayed wiring and battered panels, and re-engineering nearly every key system from scratch.

There were new engines, new hydraulics, all-glass cockpit displays and a completely updated avionics suite. Leaky fuel systems were overhauled and upgraded, new radar and navigation hardware was installed, and quarter-century old armaments were discarded in favor of the most modern defensive weaponry available. Electronic countermeasures, fly-by-light controls, digitally encrypted communications software… No tech was left unturned as the long neglected bomber was slowly brought back from the land of the aviation dead.

It was a long and difficult road back from exile in the Arizona desert, but after more than two years of intensive effort and sleepless nights, the grand old gal was ready. Christened at a G.J. airbase in Utah, Doctor Director herself had broken a bottle across the bomber's nose, and like the mythical phoenix rising from the ashes, the old girl took to the sky once more.

Now bearing the name "Illuminati One" for the surveillance role she would play, she was a flying state-of-the-art reconnaissance platform. All along her flanks, protruding blisters housed high-resolution cameras and radar arrays, and concealed multi-phase antennas collected data from across the electromagnetic spectrum. The cavernous weapons bays, where racks of nuclear-armed cruise missiles once stood at the ready, were now filled with high-end supercomputers and sophisticated monitoring equipment. From her post nearly 40,000 feet above mother earth, nothing… not even a simple cell phone transmission… would go unnoticed. She was an all-seeing, all-knowing sentinel, and for the villains of the world she carried the promise of dark days ahead.

And now, following the standard systems tests and shakedown flights, "The Mighty Eye" as the bomber was already starting to become known, was being transferred to an airbase in England for assignment to Global Justice's European Division. In all honesty, Kim felt a little strange flying wing for something that so easily dwarfed her own transportation, but any reservations she may have had were quelled by the knowledge of just who was on the other side of that window.

"Red Fox to Mad Dog." She called out, initializing the Sloth's integrated communication system. "How's it going over there, Ron?"

"Not bad." Ron's familiar voice quickly responded. "It handles pretty well… for a flying dump truck."

"Now-now Ron." Kim chided. "That's really no way to talk about that… that…"

"Buff."

"Huh?"

"Buff: Bee You Eff Eff." Ron elaborated. "It's a… a… uh… What do you call those words again?"

"What words?"

"You know. Those words with letters that stand for other words and stuff."

"You mean 'acronyms?'"

"Yeah, that's it! It's one of those… things."

"'Buff' is an acronym?"

"Totally! It stands for Big, Ugly Fat F…"

"RON!"

"F-f-f-friend?" The final word was posed more as a question than a statement of fact, and if it was even possible to hear a person smiling sheepishly, then Kim was getting more than an earful at that moment.

"Nice try, bucko." She growled over the open com link. "I see your instructors have been teaching you a few things other than airmanship."

"Hey! We may be professionals, but we're still a bunch of guys… you know… for the most part." Ron said defensively. "And when guys get together, well…"

"I think I get the point." Kim admitted, cutting him off. "Just watch yourself. We're on an open channel after all."

"Roger that, Red Fox."

"So then everything's spankin' over there?"

"For the most part, yeah. But we're gonna play the landing by ear." Ron cautiously admitted. "I've got one engine here that's running a little hot. We may have to shut it down."

"Ah yes. The dreaded seven-engine approach." Kim panned in response. "Somehow I think you'll manage."

"Hey! You never know. There could be a really strong headwind or something."

"I'll have Wade scan the weather satellites for hurricanes." Kim affectionately mocked. "In the mean time, I think you've got it covered."

"Yeah, I guess." Ron sighed over the open channel. "Man, the controls on this bird sure are complicated."

"Information overload?"

"Yeah, but it's not so much the number of functions." Ron explained. "It's the redundancy. With eight engines, everything has to be repeated eight times. Temperature… oil pressure… It's the same stuff, over and over and over again."

"So look on the bright side." Kim responded. "At least it's not a B-36."

"Six turning and four burning? Ugh!" Ron groaned. "Now _that_ would be an operational nightmare."

"Right! So count your blessings, fly boy. And keep your eyes on the clouds."

"Roger that, Red Fox. This is Mad Dog, over and out."

And with that, the two miss-matched craft flew onward into an empty sky, racing toward a meeting with the eastern horizon.

* * *

As usual, Ron's worries proved completely unfounded.

After several apprehensive minutes, the flight engineer had determined that the "engine overheat" warning was false, attributable to nothing more than a faulty sensor. The flight continued on in textbook fashion, all the way through the approach. The four pairs of Pratt & Whitney turbojets responded perfectly, spinning down ever so slowly as Ron eased the giant bird down onto the runway, deployed his thrust reversers and rolled out to a stop.

By the time Kim had followed suit, Ron had already parked his charge along the edge of the tarmac, completed his post-flight checklist, and was dismounting through the bomber's forward crew hatch. He smiled and waved as the familiar sight of the pink coupe pulled up and parked in the shade of the Stratofort's gargantuan wing, giving new meaning to the term "aluminum overcast."

"Give a soldier a lift, ma'am?" he playfully asked.

"Let nobody ever say I'm un-patriotic." Kim quipped back, unlocking the passenger door as Ron strode around to that side. "Nice flight?"

"Well it's no fighter, but I'll give it a seven." Ron said sitting down and stretching out in the Sloth's spacious interior. "Besides, anything in the air is better than being stuck at home today."

"Why?" Kim inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Something major?"

"Dad's fixing the trash compactor."

"Sweet mother of pearl! He isn't!" Kim gasped in horror. She knew that while her own skills in the kitchen may have been incredibly suspect, she was Julia Freakin' Childs when compared to the mechanical skills of Ron's father: Especially when it came to kitchen appliances. "Mechanically declined" was a term that seemed to best describe him. It was the reason he had become math person, after all.

"'Fraid so." Ron sighed in resignation. "You know, with a wrench in his hands, I think he's actually more destructive than your brothers."

"He _does_ remember the refrigerator incident, doesn't he?"

"How could he forget? It all started with a simple light that wouldn't come on, and three days later the only thing that did work was the door handle."

"And the dishwasher episode?"

"Now _that_ was an eye opener. Never thought you could actually blast floral print off china."

"Or the blender blooper?"

"Still the only one on the block that can puree a brick."

"This is not going to end well, is it?"

"Well who knows, KP? Maybe he'll succeed in creating neutron star matter or something."

"Or more likely he'll just blow up the kitchen."

"Yeah, my money's on that too."

"So where to, soldier?"

"G.J annex building." Ron informed, pointing in the general direction of their destination. "I gotta sign off on delivery with the watch commander and lose the flight suit. Then we'll be good to go."

"Roger that." Kim replied, putting the Sloth in gear. "And away we go."

* * *

"Left side, LEFT SIDE!!!"

"Oh sorry."

The Sloth swerved violently across the center line and wobbled briefly before settling back into its appointed lane. For the teenaged couple inside, driving in the British Isles was fast proving to be a challenging experience.

"What's up with this crazy country, anyway?" Ron asked incredulously, relaxing his grip on the center armrest. "Why can't they drive on the right like normal people?"

"For them, this _is_ normal." Kim groaned, making a minor steering adjustment and silently cursing herself for having drifted into the oncoming lane, an event that had so far occurred three times since their departure from the airfield.

"Are you kidding me?" Ron whined in return. "How could you ever call _this_ normal?"

"It's a cultural thing." Kim started to explain. "If you'd grown up always having to… You know what, never mind."

"Works for me."

"So how'd your meeting with C.O. go?"

"Smooth as silk, K.P." Ron answered. "Dude signed on the dotted line and we were good to go. Only hitch was when my darn phone wouldn't shut up."

"Ugh. _That_ again?" Kim moaned. Earlier in the summer Ron had upgraded his cell phone and had received a new number in the process. It had all seemed well and good at first, right up until he started receiving strange calls at all hours of the day and night.

His initial fears about being stalked by cellular ghosts proved unfounded when Wade looked into the situation and discovered that Ron's new number was only one digit off from that of a local 24-hour pharmacy. The calls were from miss-dialing strangers seeking prescription refills, and they had been coming almost non-stop ever since.

"Why don't you just go back and get a new number?" Kim suggested, thinking that such a simple problem should have an equally simple solution.

"Can't." Ron answered. "They say it's not policy to modify an existing contract like that."

"So have Wade hack the system, then. With _his_ skills it should take all of five minutes."

"I've actually thought about that." Ron explained. "But honestly, I think I'm okay with it now. It's really not so bad once I learned how to have fun with it."

"Fun?" Kim queried, glancing across the car and raising a curious eyebrow. "Fun how?"

As fate would have it, Ron's phone chose that exact moment to ring.

"Watch and learn." Ron proudly stated as he retrieved the noisy device from his pocket and flipped it open.

"Yell-lo." He started off by saying, quickly taking on a thoughtful expression as he listened intently to the person on the other end.

"I see. Well we can certainly refill that for you sir." He soon continued, flashing Kim a conspiratorial wink. "But first let me ask you, are you currently taking any other medications?" Once again, he listened quietly as the anonymous caller spoke.

"OH NO, YOU DIDN'T!" Ron suddenly exploded, causing Kim to jump and nearly strangle herself on her seat belt. "Are you feeling dizzy or nauseous? If you hold your hand up to your face can you still see it? Well the good news is that you're one of the two percent then.

"Listen to me very carefully sir!" Ron continued at a frantic pace. "You're going to need to administer an antidote immediately! You'll need a gallon of Kool-Aid, two apricots, slightly bruised, a strainer and a wad of silly putty… I don't know sir, I'm just reading the instructions in front of me. Do you have an inflatable swimming pool?… Well you'll need to get one… Yes, I'll hold…"

"Ron!" Kim growled, grabbing the phone from his hand and ending the call.

"Awwwww… I was just setting him up for a big line about Drano and a macramé wall-hanging!"

"_Soooo_ not funny!"

"Well I'd say that's a matter of opinion." Ron huffed, sinking back into his seat and folding his arms akimbo.

"Just call Wade already and have him change the number!"

_*Beep-beep-de-beep*_

Both teens looked suspiciously down at the Sloth's in-dash communications console.

"Speak of the devil." Kim observed.

"You don't suppose he's got the car bugged, do you?" Ron wondered aloud.

Instead of answering, Kim turned her attention to the sloth's hands-on controls and pressed the "acknowledge" key, bringing a smiling image of the young webmaster to life.

"Hey Wade. What's the sitch?"

"Got us clearance to cross the channel yet?" Ron asked.

"I'm still talking with the passport people on that front," Wade informed, "but in the meantime there's something else that's come up."

"Lay it on us, Wade."

"There's trouble brewing to the north of you." Wade explained. "Authorities are reporting a major disturbance along the east coast of Scotland, near the town of Saint Andrews."

"Saint Andrews?" Kim asked thoughtfully. "Why does than name sound familiar?"

"Probably because it was all over the news last month." Wade pointed out.

"Oh yeah, right! The British Open!" Ron exclaimed, abruptly leaning forward in his seat. "My dad was glued to the TV that whole weekend."

"Your dad's into golf?" Kim confusedly asked.

"He's an actuary, K.P." Ron explained. "His idea of getting wild is parting his hair on the other side, so yeah... Golf is pretty much up his alley."

"Fair 'nuff." Kim conceded before turning her attention back to the image of Wade between them. "So we've got a major public disturbance that seems to be focused around the world's oldest golf course." She summarized.

"Pretty much." Wade confirmed.

"Why do I get the feeling we already know who's involved?"

"How'd you guess?" Wade sarcastically asked.

"With the villains _we_ fight, it's never difficult."

"On the bright side, Killigan's usually an easy collar." Wade pointed out.

"Being so one-dimensional will do that for ya." Ron volunteered. "Seriously though, would it _kill_ these guys to think outside the box every once in a while?"

"Ron… What did we say about giving the bad guys ideas?" Kim growled.

"Well it's not like I'm offering 'how-to' tips or anything." Ron said defensively. "I just appreciate it when people take a little pride in their work."

"Anyway," Kim sighed, looking back to Wade, "Have you got directions for us?"

"Uploading coordinates to your nav system now." Wade proudly stated. "Beep me if you need anything else."

"Will do, Wade." Kim informed the pre-adolescent tech guru. "Kim out." An instant later, the screen went blank.

"So we're off to the home of the 'royal and ancient game,' huh?" Ron inquired, slouching lethargically back in his seat. "At least it'll give me a chance to work on my backhand."

"That's tennis, Ron." Kim pointed out.

"Oh right. My bank-shot, then?"

"That would be billiards."

"Slap-shot?"

"Hockey."

"Wait! Is golf the one with the horses?"

"Nrrrrrrgh!"

Wisely, the young blond decided to quit while he was ahead, allowing the remainder of the trip to pass in relative silence.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well hello again, my literary friends!

I should probably take this time to apologize for the current chapter being so short. I had originally planned to include the coming battle in this installment, but the resulting chapter would have been far too long to be manageable, and this seemed the most logical place to break things up. Transitional chapters have their place too, I guess.

In regards to my previous chapter, I must confess: I made a slight boo-boo. My descriptions of the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird, which featured so prominently in that installment, were not entirely accurate.

Contrary to my own descriptions, the Blackbird is not a single-seat aircraft. In reality, the plane carries a crew of two, arranged in a tandem formation with a electronics and surveillance officer seated directly behind the pilot.

In my planning for this chapter, I actually envisioned Ron flying the A-12: a precursor to the Blackbird, flown by the CIA in the late 1960s. This aircraft was nearly identical to the SR-71 in both performance and appearance, with one notable exception... The A-12 was flown with a one-man crew. I guess dealing with such similar aircraft got me a little turned around in the story.

And after a recent visit to Beale AFB, where I had the distinct pleasure of speaking with a gentleman who had once been involved with the SR-71 program, I've partially rewritten the description of the start-up sequence, bringing it more in line with the plane's prototypical operations Check it out if you're so inclined.

_Boeing B-52 Stratofortress:_ One of the most legendary aircraft in the history of aviation, the mighty "Stratofort" came into being in a most unusual way.

Starting in late November of 1945, less than three months after the end of World War Two, the Boeing Aircraft Company entered a contest to design a new long-range bomber to serve as a delivery platform for America's fledgling nuclear arsenal. Their design, a straight-winged aircraft with six turboprop engines was declared the winner, beating out the proposals of Consolidated Aircraft and the Glenn Martin Company. Work was quickly started on fleshing out the design, but changing requirements and advancing technologies soon threw the project into chaos.

Over the next three years, a series of revisions resulted in no fewer than seven different variations being proposed. There were both turboprop and jet-powered versions, and some using a combination of the two. There was a swept-wing model, a smaller four-engine version, and a proposal calling for two variants to be produced, one equipped for nuclear delivery and the other equipped for conventional weapons. Finally, in an attempt to curtail what it saw as a runaway project, the Pentagon laid down the law. The new bomber would have a top speed of 513 miles per hour at an altitude of 35,000 feet, be capable of delivering both nuclear and conventional payloads, and utilize the newly-developed Pratt & Whitney J57 turbojet engines. Boeing engineers already in Washington were handed the new specifications on the afternoon of October 21st, 1948, and were instructed to have a proposal ready within three days time.

Working nearly non-stop throughout the weekend, the team huddled in a rented hotel room that served as their makeshift workshop. Although the issue was often in doubt, they ultimately met the deadline, producing a hastily drawn set of blueprints and a hand-carved styrene model at a meeting on October 24th. The military brass apparently liked what they saw as and the official go-ahead was given, green lighting the project for further development.

First entering service in 1955, the aircraft now known as the Boeing Stratofortress, quickly proved its mettle. Exceeding many if not all of its design requirements, it was found to be rugged, dependable, and could be easily customized to the requirements of a specific mission.

Standing as the definition of longevity and having outlived the Cold War which it was designed to fight, the vaunted Stratofort currently remains in front line service with the United States Air Force; one of only six aircraft in the world to have served more than 50 years with their original primary operator. (The others are the Tupolev TU-95 Bear, the C-130 Hercules, the KC-135 Stratotanker, the Lockheed U-2 and the English Electric TT-18 Canberra.)

Today, with more than a half-century of service to its credit, the B-52 is projected to remain in service until the year 2040: A service life of 85 years!

_Convair B-36 Peacemaker: _First flown on August 8th of 1946, the Convair Peacemaker was the world's first truly intercontinental bomber and the first aircraft to be capable of carrying multiple nuclear weapons at once.

The design process began in April of 1941: A full eight months before American entry into the Second World War, and at a time when the possibility of Britain falling to the Nazis seemed very real. American military planners recognized the need for a bomber that could strike targets in Europe from bases within the continental United States, and so a design competition was initiated, calling for the creation of a VERY long-ranged aircraft. Consolidated aircraft responded with a design they called the "Model B-35," but this was soon changed to "B-36" in order to avoid confusion with the experimental Northrop YB-35.

Delays in prototype construction would plague the B-36 program however, and with America's entry into the war in December of that year, Consolidated was ordered to slow work on the project so that they could focus more resources on production of their B-24 Liberator aircraft. Due to these and other factors, the task of building America's super-bomber would ultimately fall to Boeing and their B-29 Superfortress, and the B-36 project was shelved.

Following the war, the dawn of the nuclear age made clear the need for aircraft even larger then the mighty Superfortress, and military planners once again turned their attention to the Consolidated, (now renamed "Convair"), proposal.

Occasionally referred to as the "Big Stick," the B-36 is nothing less than the largest piston-engined aircraft to ever be mass produced, and at 230 feet in length, boasts the largest wingspan of any combat aircraft in history. Powered primarily by six propeller-engines in a "pusher" configuration, the Peacemaker was obsolete even by the time of its first flight. Yet its jet-powered counterparts of the day lacked the payload capacity to carry the bulky first-generation H-bombs, as well as the range to strike targets within the Soviet Union from bases within the continental United States. (Storing nuclear weapons in foreign countries was, and still is, a delicate subject.) For extra speed, the six propellers were supplemented with four Pratt & Whitney turbojets, slung from hardpoints beneath the wingtips. For this reason, the Peacemakers flew under the mantra of "six turning and four burning." (Although flight engineers would often tweak the phrase, referring to their birds as "two turning, two burning, two smoking, two choking and two dead.")

All told, 385 Peacemakers would be built before the plane's retirement in 1959. Of these, only four prototypes survive to tell their story today.

And so with their boots safely on the ground in the land of queen and country, our intrepid heroes are off on another adventure to confront mister skirty-pants yet again. Be careful, Team Possible! This time you're fighting on _his _turf. How will our heroes fair? What's the man in plaid planning? If they have eighteen holes and fourteen clubs, why do golfers keep yelling "fore?" All will be revealed in due time.

So tune in next time to see what Duff has up his sleeve… _er…_ skirt… _uhh…_ kilt? _(Eeewwwww… Wrongsick!)_

_Nutzkie…_


	14. All Fore One and One Fore All

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Fourteen ~**

"_It rained and rained and rained and rained… The average was well maintained;  
And when our fields were simply bogs, it started raining cats and dogs.  
_

_After a drought of half an hour, there came a most refreshing shower;  
And then the queerest thing of all: A gentle rain began to fall."_

Many years ago, these were the words chosen by an anonymous and soggy visitor to Scotland when penning his own description of the country's cantankerous weather. And while such a statement may seem to contain the trappings of farce, poetic license aside it's actually a relatively fair assessment of the regional climate. All across the country, from the costal plains to the mountainous highlands of the interior, precipitation is a nearly constant companion. As many a local resident has put it: _"If ye can't see the moontains, it's rainin'. If ye CAN see the moontains, it's aboot teh rain."_

So it was no surprise that a wet and dreary sky was on hand to greet two young Americans as they pulled into a parking spot along one of the narrow cobblestone streets that made up the historic center of this historic city. Jostled by the North Sea wind that continually blew in from the coast, the grand bells of the nearby Saint Andrews Cathedral gently wafted their knell down from their tower and across the medieval skyline, carried upon a gossamer current of salt air. If one could simply take away the few automobiles that dotted the streets, then the impression would be one of stepping back in time to the tune of 500 years.

"Lovely place." Ron remarked, crossing his arms and bracing himself against a particularly frigid gust. "Any chance they could turn up the thermostat for us?"

"Doubtful, Ron." Kim quipped, turning her emerald gaze skyward. "But at least the rain seems to be letting up."

""Yeah, just like it did three times on the drive over here."

"So what are you? Afraid you're gonna melt?"

"Nooooo." Ron replied defensively. "It's just that we didn't bring a change of clothes. So if we get soaked…"

"Technically Ron, _you_ didn't bring a change of clothes. Some of us make a point of coming prepared."

"Aw, man!"

"But fortunately for you, I came prepared for both of us."

"Really? You did?"

"There's a duffle in the trunk with your name on it, soggy."

"Well that's an unexpected booyah. Thanks a mil, KP!"

"Meh. No big." She dismissively waved. "So cheer up and look on the bright side."

"Yeah, you're right."

"Besides, it's really just like when it stops raining at home. The earth is cleansed and the plants are refreshed…"

"And I get to go out on the driveway and stomp on earthworms!" Ron enthused, an almost predatory smile stretching across his face. Kim could only raise an eyebrow at her boyfriend in mock disbelief."

"You are so flawed." She said, shutting her door and starting down the sidewalk toward the beach.

"Whaaaaat…" Ron whined as he slammed his own door and raced to catch up.

* * *

A medieval city is a far cry from its modern counterparts. Laid out and built in an era long before cars or mass transit were ever envisioned, their designers did not see any value in a well-organized grid system. In fact, the very concept of design itself seems to have been lost on such early contractors, as these communities were often laid out as a jumbled, ad-hoc maze of narrow, winding alleys and cobblestone lanes not much wider than a typical ox cart. In an era when things moved slowly, if at all, and the bulk of society was still on foot, it actually made a certain degree of sense.

But in the modern world, it was just plain annoying.

Such was the lesson now being learned by two young heroes as they made their way through the confusing web of thoroughfares, guided only by the suspicion that heading downhill would take them toward the coast, and therefore closer to their goal. It was twenty minutes of probing back alleys and blind corners before the stately roofline of the Saint Andrews Clubhouse came into view.

Pushing through a crowd of curious onlookers, the pair looked for any person with the appearance of being in charge. They found their quarry in the form of several gentlemen in matching jackets, involved in a serious-looking conversation with several more gentlemen sporting the distinctivly peaked helmets of British law enforcement.

"Excuse me." Kim said, interrupting the discussion. "But is there anyone who could fill us in on the sitch? I'm…"

"Kim Possible! As I live and breath!" one of the jacketed-men exclaimed. "I'd a' recognize yer face from anywhere, I would!"

"Uh, yeah. Thanks." Kim replied, shaking the offered hand.

"Well I reckon we needn't be worrying ourselves about things none now, would we?"

"I, uh, reckon not." Kim cautiously agreed, not being entirely sure of just what she was agreeing _to._ The Gaelic accents most of these gentlemen sported seemed so thick that they left her wanting a pair of headphones and an interpreter, a la the United Nations.

"Aye! And who mightn't this strapping young lad be, pray tell?" the man asked, indicating Ron, who by this point had pushed his way through the crowd to rejoin Kim.

"Oh. This is Ron Stoppable… My partner." Kim introduced, stepping aside to let Ron approach the group.

"Well a very chipper morn' to you then, my boy! 'Bout ready for a good scrap, are ye?"

"Uhhhh… Sprechen ze English?" Ron asked in bemused bewilderment.

"Aye?"

"He's ready." Kim jumped in, turning the conversation away from any potential misunderstandings. "So since we're all here, let's get down to brass tacks. What's Killigan's game?"

"I'm pretty sure it's golf." Ron pointed out, earning an iron stare from Kim.

"The crazy bloke has claimed the entire course as his own." One of the policemen explained. "Says his own course has been ruined and since he needs a place to practice his game…"

"He's taking yours." Kim completed the thought. "Typical Duff."

"Uh, not that it really matters big-picture-wise," Ron broke in, "but what's wrong with _his_ course?"

"Massive infestation of fescue weevils." Another member of the club pointed out.

"Fescue weevils? Eeewwww!" Kim winced, suppressing an involuntary shudder. As such things went, that just sounded wrong on _so_ many levels.

"Sounds like a curse of some kind." Ron observed.

"So where is short, round and crazy now?" she finally asked, once she had regained her composure.

""Bah! The bloody tosser is over yonder by the seventeenth green, he is. We've been a keepin' the people away from 'im, but we don't dare be aproachin' him." One of the jacketed men said.

"Aye. From where he's a bein' he can see nary forever, and there tisn't nobody among us whose got sand enough to challenge 'im head on." An officer elaborated. "A crazy bloke like that… Ye can't be knowin' what he might do."

"Smart move." Kim concurred, a thoughtful expression gracing her face. "Discretion really _is_ the better part of valor when dealing with unstable types, and Duff is nothing if not unstable. But still, there _has_ to be some way of getting close without him noticing."

"Well we'll be a bunch o' bonnie sots if we can figure how."

"Yeah, well you might not know much about being sneaky, but you sure do know how to come up with some clever names." Ron observed, drawing everyone's attention to the young man whose presence had been all but forgotten.

"Ron…" Kim began to protest.

"No, seriously." Ron insisted, gesturing with a brochure he held in his hands. He waved a finger at the large, printed map of the course indicating several key areas.

"Check out the names for some of these sand traps: 'Hell,' 'Grave,' 'Coffin,' the 'Road Bunker.' Then there's something called the 'Valley of Sin' and something else called 'Swilcan Burn.'" He scratched his head and wrinkled his nose perplexedly at this last item.

"What's a 'Swilcan Burn' anyway?" he asked aloud. "Some kind of rash or something?"

"A 'burn' is a small creek, Ron." Kim sighed in explanation, taking the unfolded brochure from her boyfriend. Her eyes lit up however upon seeing its overall contents.

"So tell me gentlemen… What's _this?"_ she asked, turning back to the group and thrusting her finger at one particular point on the map.

"That? Oh that be the course boundary tis all." One of them said dismissively.

"I can see that." Kim pointed out. "But what _specifically_ is there? How's it marked?"

"Well there be a gravel road a runnin' the inside of the line here, and the old railway bed be just beyond."

"Anything else?"

"A stone wall that runs 'tween them, if that be 'twat you mean?"

"That be 't'wat' I mean." Kim informed the group. "And exactly how high is that wall?"

"'Bout a meter, I bet do."

"A meter: So about one yard." Kim pondered, her face slowly changing into a knowing, almost predatory smile.

"Perfect!" she breathed.

"Alright! So whatcha got, KP?" Ron asked pushing in close to his girlfriend's side. After working with her for so closely for so many years, he knew when she had a plan.

"For starters, we head down to the beach." Kim explained, pointing to the nearby shoreline as depicted on the map. "Then, we head up the coast using the contours of the shore for cover. Once we get to this point here," she pointed to the spot on the map where the aforementioned creek met the sea, "we turn inland and follow the streambed in the same manner, proceeding to this point here. From there the wall will give us cover as we move to flank Killigan's position."

"Sounds good… sounds good." Ron agreed, stroking his chin thoughtfully and nodding his head. "But what do we do once were there?"

"We run a pinscher maneuver on him." Kim explained. "We'll split up, and while you attack from the north, I come at him from the south. There's several sand traps in the area, so you should be able to use them for cover as you advance."

"So we're looking at the typical distraction role, huh? I draw his attention while you take him from behind?"

"Pretty much." Kim admitted. "Sorry to keep putting you in the same spot all the time."

"Meh… S'all right." Ron dismissed. "I'm just glad to be contributing."

"That's the spirit, partner." Kim said, gently leaning in and giving him a buss on the cheek. "Now let's get moving. I wanna get this over and done before the rain starts in again."

"You're not the only one." Ron admitted as he followed dutifully behind. "I think I saw some guys over in the maintenance department building an ark."

* * *

"Okay. Target in sight." Kim observed, peering cautiously over the top of the stacked stones. "He's right in the middle of the green, ranting on about his damage du jour."

"So what else is new?" Ron quipped. After years of dealing with the mad Scotsman, he thought it would be unusual for Killigan _not_ to be throwing a fit about one thing or another.

"Point taken." Kim agreed. "Now get up here and scout this with me."

Rising to his knees and sliding up beside Kim, Ron peered over. From their position at the corner where the wall turned and ran parallel to the abandoned railroad grade, a large portion of the Old Course was visible. As Kim had said, Killigan was just a few yards away, raving away in indecipherable tones and smacking golf balls indiscriminately, apparently paying attention to nothing in particular.

"See anything you like?" Kim whispered directly into his oversized ear.

"Yeah." Ron admitted. "Those two hills over there should give me a starting point, then I can move up by ducking in and out of that string of bunkers over there."

"Sounds like a plan."

"So what about you?"

"I'll hang tight here. Once you've got his attention, I'll move up and take him from behind. It'll be a piece of cake."

"_Mmmm-mmmmm!"_ Rufus squeaked, poking his little pink nose out of Ron's pocket.

"Easy, little man. It's just a figure of speech."

"_Hurk, phooey!"_

"Getting back to business now, we've got a plan then?" Kim reminded the group.

"Yeah, we've got a plan. Although that's an easy thing for you to say." Ron observed. "You're not the one whose about to be on the business end of the world's largest 'whack-a-mole' game."

"Okay, good point." Kim sighed in concession to Ron's statement. "But you're _my_ mole." She added, reaching between them to tussle his unruly mop of blond hair.

"True that." Ron smiled before turning to slink off toward his designated position. "Give me five minutes, then go?"

"Sounds good. And Ron…"

"Yeah."

"Be careful."

"You too, KP." Ron somberly observed. "You too."

* * *

"Aye, those wretched little vermin! Be thinkin' they can keep me away from me cherished game, eh? Well be thinkin' bout _this_ for a while now, ye microscopic miscreants ye."

Duff Killigan was certainly on his game this overcast afternoon as he laced a series of perfectly struck long irons out across the rolling linksland of the Scottish coast. Never minding the divots he was taking out of the finely manicured putting surface, he laid out another line of balls, his enthusiasm for his chosen sport matched only by his disdain for the destructive insects that had chased him from his ancestral home.

"Little turf-nibbling trollops!" he fumed as he launched another barrage of high, left-hand draws. "Thinks they can ruin this game for me, eh? Well tain't nobody oor nuttin'that can keep me from playin' goff!"

"Playing _what?"_ an unknown intruder suddenly interrupted, causing him to utterly miss his downswing and send an ugly slice careening off into the right-hand rough.

"Who go there?" Killigan bellowed, wheeling around to face the person who had so rudely interrupted his practice. His eyes narrowed in contempt when he recognized the newcomer's identity.

"Aye. If it tain't the Possible lass's dipit sidekick."

"I'm sorry. You were playing _what_ now?" Ron prodded again.

"Goff, ye meddlesome twit! GOFF!"

"Oh, you mean golf?"

"Aye! That bein' t'wat I mean!"

"Well then why didn't you just say so?"

The mad Scotsman's four-iron was nearly bent into a horseshoe as he was consumed with rage. Only his deep-seated respect for the integrity of the game kept him from bludgeoning the boy right there and burying him in a bunker.

"So what say ye be wantin', boy?" he finally growled in a low menacing tone.

"Me? Oh, today I'm working with the noise police." Ron quipped in return. "Would you happen to know where the bagpipe recital is?"

"Dooh, yer gonna be a payin' for that one, ye are now." Duff growled again, reaching into the leather pouch slung under his arm and dropping a trio of balls onto the turf. The boy before him had not only just insulted his accent, but also his country's entire musical culture, and for that the Scotsman would finish the young stripling once and for all, ancient and honored game be damned.

For Ron, he didn't need to be told that the three balls Duff had just deposited on the ground weren't your ordinary sporting equipment.

"Okay buddy. The rat has taken the cheese." He whispered.

"_Hurk, heeeeeey!"_

"Sorry. Poor choice of words." He regretfully admitted. "You ready for step two?"

"_Ready!"_ Rufus squeaked, saluting his master smartly.

"Okay, then let's _do_ this!"

And with an effeminate shriek, he began running to and fro, dodging and darting about like a headless chicken.

* * *

When she heard the scream and the first explosion, she knew it was time to move.

Vaulting herself over the wall and landing on the gravel surface with cat-like agility, Kim caught her first glimpse of the scene as it unfolded. As planned, Ron was running from bunker to bunker, taking whatever cover he could from the massive sand-filled pits, and adopting what appeared to be a coherent strategy in the process.

"Bah! Can't ye be holdin' a wee bit still for me now?" Duff screamed as he reloaded for yet another barrage.

Killigan may have been an expert at his sport, but he couldn't bend the laws of physics. Once a shot was in the air, it was up to the complex interaction of wind, friction, inertia and trajectory to determine where it ultimately wound up, and in this there was a degree of predictability. With the ocean so close by, the prevailing wind would come from that side, and as a result, objects in flight would tend to move in the opposite direction. By sliding a few steps toward the beach every time Duff let fly with another shot, Ron was able to assure that the dimpled projectile would land a safe distance away.

The down side to this strategy, however, was that each step toward the shore took him closer to the middle of the fairway, and farther away from the safety of the bunkers.

But still, he was closing the range. Killigan had already been forced to change clubs twice, dropping from a four iron down to a seven, then again to a pitching wedge. With each shot however, Duff was managing to dial in his accuracy just a little better, and just as Ron closed the final few yards to the green, and Duff reloaded for one, final, game-ending shot, Ron stumbled forward, falling headlong into a massive bunker fronting the green.

"Bah! Lucky shot is all that t'was." Duff fumed, seeing his window of opportunity slide closed. "Da next round won't be nary as easy for ye."

"Sorry, but the next round has been canceled." Yet another voice spoke up. "That is, unless they have golf courses in prison."

Duff spun around just in time to deflect the vicious flying kick that had been directed his way, the force of the blow sending both parties stumbling backward several feet.

"Ah, so I see ye decided to make the trip to these Scottish shores too, did ye lassie?" Duff grinned malevolently, readying himself for another attack by the redhead. "So to what occasion do I owe thee displeasure?"

"We got a tip from the fashion police." Kim shot back, circling her quarry like a wolf stalking its prey. "They said somebody was still wearing plaid this season, so we immediately though of you."

"Ha! I'll have ye knowin' that _this_ here look is a bonnie _classic!"_ Duff sneered.

"Yeah, a classic _disaster."_

Duff simply glared at the world-saving cheerleader.

"Sooo, ah can see ye'd be havin' no respect for the classic goff attire there, lassie."

"_Goff?_ Did you just say _goff?"_ Kim smirked. "You know, we have ways of making you pronounce the letter 'L.'"

"Oooh, I'd a-like ye to step over here and says that to me face, I would."

"Don't mind if I do, skirty-pants."

And with that final bit of banter, the two foes charged one another, beginning a vicious exchange of blows.

* * *

"Blech! Not exactly a day at the beach, is it? _Pa-tooey!"_ Ron remarked as he vigorously spit out the mouthful of sand he had just acquired.

"_Nnnnuh-uh… Hack! Thpbt!"_ Rufus agreed, extricating himself from his protective pocket and vigorously clearing his tiny nostrils. Getting down on all fours he shook himself clean like a dog after a bath, releasing a small shower of loose sand.

"Ack! Watch it, buddy!" Ron shouted, shielding himself as best he could.

"_Awww, sorry."_

"Heh. That's all right, little man." Ron conceded, picking himself up and turning his gaze to the massive wall of earth before him. A six-foot wall of stacked sod rose almost vertically from the sand, completely obscuring any view of what lay beyond.

"Ho boy." He sighed, not relishing the climb he was about to make. Sure, it was only six feet, but with a soggy, crumbling, vertical surface and very little in the way of toeholds, even a short climb could be difficult.

"At least the sand will cushion the fall." He lamented to himself, noting the event as a certainty rather than a possibility. "C'mon Rufus! Onward and upward, buddy!"

The tiny creature hurriedly scampered up Ron's leg and into his pocket as the young man began to climb.

* * *

They say that the third time is always the charm…

In Ron Stoppable's case, it was the sixteenth.

Clawing his way hand over hand, clinging desperately to every tuft of grass and clod of dirt, he finally managed to slip his fingers over the bunker's lip. Gritting his teeth and digging deep, he gave a mighty heave and hoisted himself up to a point that he could peer over the muddy, rain-soaked turf. As expected, Kim was mixing it up with Duff in a no-holds-barred exhibition of kung fu and stick fighting, and the resulting battle was so far proving to be a draw.

Instinctively, Ron knew what he had to do: It was time to mix things up a bit himself… by adding his own brand of dumb skills to the equation.

Ducking under a vicious slash from Killigan's wedge, Kim caught sight of Ron moving up and repositioned herself to put Duff's back to the bunker, giving him a clear shot at Duff's blind side. She retreated slightly as the rogue golfer lashed out again, blissfully unaware of the danger approaching from behind him.

Several more blows now came in rapid succession as Kim continued to retreat, staying just out of the Scotsman's striking range. After the fourth such attempt, however, Duff decided to change tactics. Abruptly, he stopped his maniacal swinging and produced another ball from his pouch, dropping it unceremoniously to the ground.

"Aye, if it's the avoidance game ye wanna play now," he sneered, "then ye just be tryin' to avoid _this!"_

Reaching back over his shoulder into a full backswing, he paused for the briefest of moments, then with a groan that summoned every ounce of strength he could muster, he let loose with a monstrous swing: A swing that produced two very unexpected results.

The first result was that the ball did not move from its position on the turf…

The second was that his hands were left totally empty.

"Aye?" he gasped, looking incredulously at his now bare hands. "What in the name of Bonnie Prince Charlie…"

"I'm sorry, but messing with K.P. is a two-shot penalty." Ron remarked, drawing Duff's attention. To the Scotsman's amazement, the young boy had snuck up from behind and completely disarmed him, as evidenced by his favorite wedge, which Ron now twirled casually between his fingers.

Any theorizing on just _how_ he had allowed himself to be outflanked in such a manner were quickly interrupted, however, as Kim grabbed his shoulders and spun him around to face her once again.

"And I get a free drop." She smiled maliciously.

The knee that was so forcefully driven into his groin at that moment caused Duff's eyes to nearly pop out of their sockets. With a throaty gurgle and an almost inaudible whimper, he dropped to his knees and keeled over onto the green, either unwilling or unable to move another inch.

"Yikes!" Ron commented, stepping around the fallen Scotsman to his girlfriend's side. "You didn't really have to hit him there."

"No, but I _soooo_ wanted to." Kim guiltily admitted.

"Maybe he'll wear a cup when he plays from now on?"

"Maybe." Kim shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe." Ron observed, stretching himself before taking a long, critical look at their fallen foe.

"So what do you think?" he asked. "They gonna put him in the penalty box for all this?"

Kim only favored her boyfriend with a pitiful look, then wordlessly turned and began the trek back to the clubhouse.

"What? What'd I say?" Ron whined. "Seriously, wait up KP! _Whaaaaaaat?"_

* * *

By the time the duo returned to the stately 16th-century clubhouse, the local authorities were expeditiously handling the mopping-up duties, as was their custom. And as was Team Possible's custom, the pair was on hand to see the Scottish sportsman off for his latest trip to lock-up.

"Aye, watch where ye be puttin' yer grubby wee mitts now!" he bellowed at the escorting officers. "And what aboot me game? What am I suppose' to do be doin' 'bout that, eh?"

"I'd say straighten your left arm and open your stance a bit." Ron suggested. "It should control that slice you've got going on."

"Buh… Wha… Open me stan…" Duff sputtered. "Why that be so crazy, it's the… the… the… Actually, that not be a bad idea."

He was still contemplating the concept when the doors of the police van slammed shut and the vehicle pulled away in a cloud of exhaust.

"Aye! Once again, we can't be thanking you enough, Miss Possible!" the club president repeated for the umpteenth time that afternoon, vigorously pumping Kim's hand to the point where she feared it might fall off. "The Royal and Ancient Club, and indeed the entire game, owes ye a debt of gratitude!"

"Ah, it's no big." Kim politely smiled, reclaiming her hand.

"Yeah, what _is_ big are those divots Duff took out of the green." Ron remarked. "I swear, some of those things looked like they should be on the back end of a beaver."

"Aye. That be what we call a 'Damned English Divot.'" The president sighed. "But lucky we be to have the greatest greens-keeping crew in the game workin' fer us."

"Let's hope they've got a backhoe handy." Ron lamented.

"But these issues can wait, now can't they?" the president beamed. "First things be to see that yer properly thanked. The Royal and Ancient Club would be honored if you would be attending a banquet in your honor this night."

"Well, I suppose we could stay for _one_ evening." Kim thought aloud. "What's on the menu?"

"Aye, our chef be whippin' up a batch of his famous haggis as we be speakin'."

At the very mention of the traditional Scottish dish, both teens turned a shade of green that would have made Shego proud.

"Don't… say… anything." Ron whispered through gritted teeth. "Just… keep… smiling… and… slowly… back… away."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Whew! This one proved tougher than I thought. I guess when you're dealing with a real-life landscape, it makes action sequences that much harder. Fictional settings are easy as you can simply create topography to fit the story. But when the location is real, the process is reversed, and that's when things get a little tricky.

And since location played such an important role in this little tale today, here's everything you ever wanted to know about the ancestral home of the game Mark Twain once famously referred to as "a good walk spoiled." (And quite a few things that you probably didn't…)

_Saint Andrews, Scotland:_ Approximately thirty-one miles northeast across the Firth of Forth from Edinburgh, the region of Saint Andrews was first inhabited by humans during the Mesolithic period, somewhere between 5,000 and 10,000 years ago. Here, people of the middle stone age settled along the boundaries of the tidal estuary formed by the confluence of the Tay and Eden Rivers, undoubtedly drawn by the temperate climate and abundant resources that the sea provided.

Establishment of the modern town began around the year 1140, although there had been a church present on the site since the eighth century, and a bishop since the eleventh. Widely regarded as the country's ecclesiastical capital, the town boasted the largest cathedral in all of Scotland until 1559, when dual forces of the Scottish Reformation and the English Civil War conspired to revoke its religious significance and reduce its mighty cathedral to a hollowed-out ruin.

Today, with a population of over 16,000, Saint Andrews is the fifth-largest community in the province of Fife.

_The Old Course:_ No one is certain exactly when the first round of golf was played on this coastal grassland along the Firth of Tay; its origins are locked so deeply within the annals of the past that all records of the event have been lost. Most experts agree, however, that the first rounds were likely played across this wind-blown plain at some point during the late Middle Ages.

The oldest _direct_ knowledge that we have of the game's history here comes in the form of a faded and moldy parchment. Discovered several years ago amongst the ruins of the old Saint Andrews cathedral, it grants permission for "the playing of golf" to local residents, specifically mentioning the linksland adjacent to what the document refers to as the "Water of Eden." (A name formerly used to describe the nearby firth.) Representing the earliest known concrete evidence of the game's origins, it is signed by the Archbishop of Saint Andrews and dated 1552.

As the decades since then have slipped past like sands through a cosmic hour glass, and countless rounds have been played across these storied links, the essential elements of Saint Andrews' design have worked their way into nearly every facet of the modern game. Shoehorned onto a narrow strip of beachfront real estate, the first nine holes play northward along the beach. Then, making an abrupt 180-degree turn inland, the remaining nine plays back to the south, ending up back at the nearly 500 year-old clubhouse where the round began.

For this reason, all around the world today, golf courses are divided into "outward" and "inward" nines. The terms "front nine" and "back nine" also apply here for the same reason. Oh, and transitioning from the ninth to the tenth hole is often referred to as "making the turn."

And even the number of holes on a regulation course is attributable to Saint Andrews. Originally constructed with 22 holes, (eleven out and eleven back), club members decided in 1764 that some of these holes were too short to pose any real challenge. As a result, several holes were combined, creating the 18-hole format that is the game's global standard today.

Today, the game of golf is a far greater enterprise than its creators could have ever imagined. The Royal & Ancient Golf Club of Saint Andrews, founded in 1754, is universally recognized as the chief governing body of the game outside of the United States and Mexico, and the Old Course has since been joined on site by five others: The New Course, Jubilee, Eden, Strathtyrum and Balgove.

Even the Old Course itself has not been immune to the relentless march of progress. Portions of its storied layout have been redesigned over the years by such legendary names as Tom Morris and Alister MacKenzie. But such revisions have amounted to little more than minor tweaks, leaving the overall spirit of the course intact. Over the centuries, as clubs of wood and balls of feather-stuffed rawhide have given way to aluminum and steel, graphite and titanium, this grand old lady of the game has remained essentially unchanged. The fact that it still presents a fair test of a golfer's skill today, more than six centuries after the first drive sailed over its wind-swept expanses, is living testament to the enduring relevance of this timeless tract.

_Landmarks:_ Whenever something sticks around for as long as the Old Course has, there's going to be a few things that people find notable. For Saint Andrews this often comes in the form of its bunkers, of which 112 dot the landscape, and 90 have official names. Monikers such as Coffin, Cartgate, Hill, Strath, Lion's Mouth, Kruger, Mrs. Kruger, Sutherland, and of course, the infamous "Hell" bunker on the equally infamous par-five 14th hole mark the progress of a player's round.

And then, there is the Road Bunker…

Fronting the middle of the 17th green, this sand-filled pit of despair represents Golf's very own graveyard of dreams. Named for the Old Turnpike Road, which still runs along the hole's right side, it's often described as being large enough to swallow both a man and his caddy whole. During the 2000 British Open Championship, David Duval was hot on the heels of tournament leader Eldrick "Tiger" Woods when he stepped onto the vaunted 17th. His drive was all but perfect, but his second shot found one of Saint Andrews' notorious crosswinds, and the ball was unceremoniously deposited in the bunker…

Four shots later, he had finally managed to extricate himself from that not-so-shallow grave, but he had left any hope of victory buried in its sandy clutches. He would card a quadruple-bogey eight on the hole and wound up dropping from second place overall into a tie for eleventh.

And it was a similar story for Constantino Rocca during the 1995 Open. After holing out a 65-foot put from the 18th hole's treacherous "Valley of Sin" to force a playoff with John Daly, the Italian professional found himself slowly falling behind. But he was still within striking distance when the twosome stepped up to the 17th tee. All Rocca needed to do was play a solid hole, and hope Daly made a mistake.

Sadly, it was Rocca who made the mistake.

Like so many players before him, Rocca's approach fell short and into the bunker, and disaster followed in its wake. He required three strokes to escape, the final shot sailing over the green and coming to rest on the Turnpike Road, against the stone wall that marks the course boundary.

And not surprisingly, later that day, Daly victoriously hoisted the Open's Claret Jug trophy above his head.

Other landmarks of the Old Course include the "Valley of Sin:" an enormous swale that fronts the left side of the 18th green, and "Swilcan Burn:" a small creek that cuts across the first and 18th fairways, representing the only water hazard on the course. The Roman-built stone-arch bridge that crosses this waterway stands today as one of the most photographed locations in all of golf.

And yes, there's actually an abandoned railroad grade nearby. Incorporated in 1921, the London & Northeastern Railway served the town of Saint Andrews via a heavily-traveled branch line. With its station and shop facilities located adjacent to the old course, its trains were for many years just as much a part of the golfing experience as the course itself. To assure proper positioning in the fairway, tee shots on the 17th hole would be lined up on the peak of the shop building's roof, and embers from passing locomotives would occasionally ignite fires amongst the tall gorse and bunchgrass that bordered the fairways.

But with advances in automobiles following World War Two, the railroad fell out of favor, and it wasn't long before the rails were removed and the shops leveled to the ground. Today, the former Saint Andrews railway station is a hotel, serving guests of the golf course, while the railroad bed itself is little more than a weed-choked shadow of its former glory.

And there you have it folks: Another chapter down and out! Be sure to tune in next time when our heroes… well… honestly I haven't thought things quite that far through yet. But rest assured: Whatever happens, it'll be good. (I hope.)

As always, leave a review… receive a reply. Quid pro quo _rules,_ baby!

Take care, one and all!

_Nutzkie…_


	15. Life's a Beach

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Fifteen ~**

"Look. I'm not saying ol' Duff didn't need to be taken out. I'm just saying that there were more… _anatomically_ _sensitive…_ ways of doing it."

"Hey! I incapacitated him, didn't I?"

"Yeah. By hooking a hard drive right into his golf ba…"

"Ron!"

"Okay! Okay! I'll keep the language at a 'G' rating, but my point still stands."

"That being?"

"That you went a little overboard back there, alright. Just like you always do whenever there's sports involved."

"Oh really?" the redhead inquired with a raised eyebrow as she guided the flying car over the turbulent waves of the English Channel. "And exactly _what_ do I do whenever there's sports involved?"

"Well to put it bluntly, you tend to let your natural Kim-ness get the better of you." Her boyfriend asserted. "You become uber-over-competitive."

"Pfffft! _So_ not!"

"Oh really, Coach Possible?" Ron openly mocked from the Sloth's passenger seat. "One word: _Monopoly!"_

"Monopoly?" Kim asked bewilderedly. If she could have made a list of all the possible answers Ron might give to her query, she doubted that one would have even been on it. "What's a family board game got to do with any of this?"

"It illustrates my point." Ron insisted, crossing his arms and staring his girlfriend straight in the eye.

"You're serious?"

"Uh-huh." Ron continued to insist. "You see, most people see Monopoly as a game."

"Yeah, so?"

"You see it as a chance to crush all who dare to oppose you."

"Okay. Now _that's_ just not true."

"Really? Let's review, shall we?" Ron said, leaning forward against his seat belt and counting off on his fingers. "When someone draws a 'Go To Jail' card, you applaud."

"Okay… I can explain…"

"When someone lands on one of your properties, you start making cash register noises."

"Hey! I'm just trying to make the game more interesting is all."

"Mmm-hmmm. And does 'making the game more interesting' include doing the 'Happy Foreclosure Dance?'"

"Welllllll…"

"Face it, Kim. If you were any more over-the-top about it, you'd be dressing up like Snidely Whiplash and tying young maidens to the railroad properties."

Suddenly, in the midst of all of Ron's accusations, Kim started to giggle. It started small, almost imperceptible at first, but soon grew along with Ron's confusion until she was engrossed in a full-blown belly laugh. Thankfully the Sloth had been on autopilot at the time, or else they would have certainly taken a harrowing plunge into the frigid waters below.

"What? What's so funny?" Ron demanded, feeling somewhat peeved that his girlfriend found his line of reasoning to be cause for so much mirth.

"Oh! I… I get it now!" she stammered between bursts of laughter. "I know what this is _really_ about!"

"Oh you do, do you?" Ron sneered, crossing his arms defensively.

"Yup." Kim confirmed through another round of giggles. "I _totally_ get it now."

"Wonderful. Would you care to enlighten your audience then?" he mocked.

"Oh you bet I will." She said, her hysterical fit finally beginning to ebb. "This isn't about me being over-competitive."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. It's got nothing to do with that."

"Well then what _is_ it about then, oh all-knowing one?"

"This is about that one time that you and I played Monopoly together…"

"Ugh! Not _this_ again." Ron groaned.

"Oh yes! This is about the time that we played Monopoly. And… and I had 'Boardwalk.' And you landed on 'Boardwalk'… _My_ 'Boardwalk.'

"Not listening!" Ron growled, sinking deep into his seat.

"And I had something like six _thousand_ houses, and about eight _hundred_ hotels or whatever…"

"Isn't there something on the radio we can listen to instead?" he asked, reaching over to fiddle with the buttons. "Like an emergency alert tone?"

"And you only had, like, twenty dollars!"

"Seriously! Even _static!_ I'm not picky!"

"And you just looked at me with those sad eyes and said, 'but I'm your _best _friend!'"

"You know what. Just forget I said anything, all right?" he huffed, turning away to face the window.

"Aw now. Don't go off and be a sulky Sam like that." Kim cajoled him from across the car. "You know I was just funning with you."

"Whatever you say." He groused in return, staring sullenly at the horizon. "Just remember that there was a reason I stopped showing up for family game nights for two months after that."

"Really?" Kim asked in surprise. "I always thought that was because of the 'Twister' incident."

"Ah yes. The infamous 'War on the Floor of Ninety-Four.'" He wistfully remembered. "No, that would be separate and unrelated, although I do still have flashbacks about it. Thanks for bringing it up again, by the way."

"Oops! Sorry 'bout that."

"S'allright." Ron waved nonchalantly. "It's nothing that three years of therapy won't fix. By the way… We're there."

Sure enough, appearing as a dark band along the horizon, the coast of France loomed into view. It first appeared as a distant, indefinable mass… an ethereal entity without form or identity. But as they drew closer, details soon began to emerge from the sea and coastal mists. Wide beaches of untracked sand reached outward from the frothing surf, giving rise to hundred-foot bluffs at their sandy borders. Atop the coastal cliffs, a patchwork of fields and orchards was dissected and defined by a hodge-podge grid of rutted roads and rural lanes, rendering the land as a delicately-stitched quilt of verdant green, sewn by the hands of twenty generations of farmers and families.

Dropping steadily in altitude, Kim reduced speed as she approached the coast. Soon the patchwork of green became more defined with individual rows of trees becoming discernable. Taking a cue from the Sloth's integrated GPS, she executed a wide turn to the left and headed east, flying parallel to the coast and continuing to shed altitude.

"Whoa! Check _that_ place out!" Ron gasped, pointing out the passenger-side window as they passed over a rugged peninsula.

Although green with a thick carpet of wild grasses, the land along the seaside cliff tops was otherwise a barren moonscape, pockmarked with dozens upon dozens of deep craters. Here and there, the battered and weather-worn faces of concrete casemates peered out from beneath wind-swept hillocks, while in other locations, rounded concrete depressions marked the former positions of coastal artillery, their stepped sides now descending into pools of stagnant water that collected where the great guns once stood at the ready. Even after the passing of more than six decades, the evidence of the facilities that stood there, and of the bombardment that destroyed them, was unmistakable.

"They sure liberated the heck out of that place, _whatever_ it was." Ron added with barely contained astonishment.

Carefully keeping one eye on the horizon, Kim chanced a quick glance down to the navigation display that showed their current position, and noted the labels attached to nearby landmasses.

"_Pointe du Hoc"_ she silently noted. When they got home she was _so_ going to be looking this place up on the Internet.

It was the first of many such web searches that she would be self-scheduling that day.

Continuing its path of descent, the Sloth passed over strands of pristine beaches laced with overlapping arcs of white foam. To the south, the lush greenery of western France was spread before them. To the north, the angry surf of the English Channel churned and fumed, just as it had for centuries since before the Norman Conquest in 1066.

Dropping below the cliff tops, the brightly colored coupe skimmed the waves lending a splash of color to a palate of frothy white. To their right, the low tide line revealed an immense tract of pristine sand, while to the left, whitecaps broke around the rusted out hulks of small boats that still marked the path of the allied advance. Further out, massive concrete caissons loomed out of the surf like artificial islands, providing safe anchorage for ships that would never again come calling.

With a final twist of the wheel, Kim brought the Sloth into a dead hover and settled the tires down onto the sand against one of the higher cliffs, effectively shielding their position from prying eyes above. Apparently satisfied with the concealment, she was quick to release her safety belt and exit the vehicle, motioning for Ron to do the same.

"Okay, we're here." She observed, taking a cursory look around. "Now where do you suppose we should start looking for this… this… _whatever_ it is we're looking for?"

"Speaking from the standpoint personal preference," Ron admitted, casting a reluctant look toward the cliffs above, "I vote that we start the search down here."

"Really? Why do you say that?" Kim asked with piqued curiosity.

"Mainly because it's not _up there."_ He panned, pointing toward the bluffs.

"Opting for the path of least resistance?" Kim responded with a knowing smirk.

"Gravity: Why fight it?" he shrugged. "That's the Ron Stoppable slogan."

"I though your slogan was 'never be normal.'"

"No, that's the Ron Stoppable _motto._ My _slogan_ is an entirely different issue."

"Whatever." Kim sighed with a dismissive roll of her eyes. "You and Rufus see what you can turn up over there and I'll search this way. Holler if you find anything."

Splitting up, the two teens began combing the beach near the base of the cliffs. Not knowing just what they were looking for was something of a hindrance to say the least, but after an hour searching they were satisfied that whatever it was, it wasn't there.

"Well it looks like we struck out on the ground floor." Kim huffed, blowing a stray lock of hair from her face. "Guess that leaves the second story."

"Swell." Ron muttered, turning to follow his girlfriend up the narrow footpath that led up the cliff. "I'll just keep telling myself that it's good cardio. Maybe that'll make the shin splints easier to deal with."

The climb itself wasn't the steepest thing that the teens had ever attempted. Following a natural draw in the coastal topography, the experience was more of a stiff walk than a climb. But uneven ground and thick vegetation proved unexpectedly troublesome, and the ascent soon became a slow one.

"So did Wade have _any_ idea about just what the heck we're supposed to be looking for?" Ron wheezed as he slid carefully over a large rock and settled himself down along the other side.

"Nothing definitive, according to him." Kim admitted, hopscotching over a section of trail that had fallen away. "But if past is prologue, then we should know it when we see it. So far, Professor DaLive hasn't exactly been subtle in the way he leaves his mark."

"Well ain't _that_ the truth." Ron remarked as he stumbled over the same section of trail, forcing Kim to reach out and grab the front of his shirt a split-second before gravity rudely deposited him back on the beach below. "Billboards along the interstate have a more layered nuance to them, what with his fondness for bold print on vertical surfaces and all that. The dude's about as subtle as a garden rake to the face."

"And thank heavens for such small favors. That's the sort of thing that makes our job that much easier."

"So then we're looking for something obvious and eye-popping." Ron added as the pair neared the top of the cliff. "Shouldn't be too hard, eh little buddy?" he pondered, looking to the pink rodent perched on his shoulder. "I mean, heck! We're on the coast, up a hill, in the middle of nowhere. How big and 'in-your-face-ish' can something way out here really beeeeeeeeee…"

As his line-of-sight broke the top of the cliff, his brown eyes beheld a sight that stopped him dead in his tracks. There amongst the emerald green grass, stretching from the edge of the cliffs to the distant horizon, a sea of plain white crosses sprouted from the verdant carpet in rows so straight that they looked to have been laid out by lasers. To the far left stood a semi-circular colonnade on a raised dais while straight ahead stood a circular building of finely polished marble surrounded by square columns. It was memoriam on a scale he had never experienced before.

"You were saying?" Kim snidely remarked, casting a glance back toward her dumbstruck companion.

"_Annnnnnnd_ I retract my previous statement." He gasped in open-mouthed concession.

Shaking the disbelief from their heads, the pair shared a meaningful glance as they contemplated their next move.

"Sooooooo… Standard procedure then? Split up to cover more ground?" Ron offered, gesturing toward Kim in a request for her thoughts.

"Sounds good as anything." Kim shrugged. I'll go this way… you go that way. Beep me on the Kimmunicator if you turn something up."

"And what if _you_ wind up finding pay dirt?"

"Same thing… in reverse. I'll beep you."

"Gotcha!"

"Then let's get started." The fiery redhead sighed. "We've got a lot of ground to cover and no clue what we're looking for."

And with that parting remark, the two teens broke ranks and set off on different headings into the endless ranks of fallen heroes.

As instructed, Ron headed to his right, aimlessly walking in no specific direction, as people searching for something unknown are often wont to do. At first he tried to maintain a regular pattern, walking the entire length of one row before doubling back down the next. But his ever-wandering mind was hard-pressed to maintain such discipline, and his search soon deteriorated into a random, looping wander through the ranks of bleach-white markers.

He briefly paused in his search however, when his serpentine path brought him across a headstone that was markedly different from it neighbors. Standing at odds to the sea of white crosses that surrounded it, one solitary stone was capped by a Star of David, and it immediately sent the young hero's mind down a path that he was all-too familiar with.

"_This really was your war, my brother."_ He pondered silently to himself as he stared at the polished stone surface and noted the inscriptions it contained. _"Probably more than most anybody else here."_

He stole a few more moments of silent contemplation before finally turning to the buck-toothed figure perched solemnly on his shoulder.

"Soooooo… Onward and upward then, old buddy." He sighed. "Which way 'ya think we should circle now?"

"_I do not understand the meaning of this statement."_

The tow-headed turned to his hairless companion and blinked in silent astonishment at the sudden display of vocabulary and eloquence.

"R… Ru… _Rufus?"_ he stammered incoherently. "Since when do you… talk… and… you know… like… _wow!"_

The tiny rodent blinked in response, his own confused expression mimicking that of his owner. It took a few seconds for comprehension to shine its revealing light, but when the light did come he was quick to wave his paws exaggeratedly through the air and point to his mouth, indicating that the stiff and overly formal statement had not come from himself.

"Oh. Not you, huh?" Ron translated, suddenly feeling a slight tinge of embarrassment. "Well then if that wasn't _you,_ then who the heck could it…"

"_That is because those are not words, my son. What you are looking at are mildew stains left by the recent rains."_

"_I see. Then how do I translate them into something I find understandable?"_

"Asked… and answered." He panned, sharing a meaningful glance with his pet.

Both man and mole rat then cast a suspicious glance in the direction that the all-too-familiar voices had come from, noting the adjacent column-framed circular structure and nodding in silent agreement. Instinctively, Ron crouched down behind a grave marker and reached deep into his cargo pants pocket, withdrawing the older hand-held Kimmunicator that he had inherited when Kim had upgraded to her current "wristwatch" version. Chancing another quick glance over his concealment, he keyed the aqua-colored device and was quickly rewarded with an image of green eyes framed by a fiery mane of red hair.

"What's the sitch, Ron?" she reflexively asked.

"Wow. You know, it feels really weird hearing that from this end." He chuckled to no one in particular.

"Duly noted." Kim panned. "Have you found anything yet?"

"About the riddle? No." he informed. "But it turns out we've got a whole 'nother sitch brewing over here."

"Meaning?"

"Evil Incorporated is here, and he brought 'tall, dark and stupid' along for the ride."

"The Seniors?" Kim asked warily, hoping that for once her instincts about Ron's cryptic manner of speaking weren't spot-on.

"Bingo! Get that girl a chocolate cigar!"

_Sometimes, she __so__ hated being right._

"Okay then. We'll just have to deal." She ruefully admitted. "I'll be there as quick as I can. Try to keep a low profile and stay out of sight 'till then, okay?"

"Got it. _Low-pro_ it is."

It took her several minutes to reach Ron's position, being forced to keep low and move erratically in using the headstones for cover. When she finally arrived she found him huddled behind a marker, his face contorted in concentration as he listened intently to the conversation going on just a few yards away.

"Anything interesting so far?" she inquired as she slipped silently up beside him.

"Oh yeah. The plot's been thickening quite nicely." Ron replied with a faint air of sarcasm. "In fact, there's a whole new ingredient in the drama stew."

"Huh?" Kim blinked. "And what's that supposed to…?"

"_Are you two guys going to be done anytime soon? Because every minute here is a minute I'm not in Paris. You know… SHOPPING!"_

"…Mean." Kin groaned, burying her face in her hands. Of all the people she could ever hope _not_ to run into in the field, the owner of that voice was near the very top of the list.

"My life is an episode of Agony County." Ron lamented under his breath, shaking his head and slouching dejectedly against the smooth surface of the headstone.

"Well, there's no sense in putting off the inevitable." Kim conceded after several seconds of silent resignation had passed between them. "Let's go out and meet the neighbors."

"And there goes the neighborhood." Ron groaned to himself, rising to his feet and dutifully following his girlfriend around to the far side of the small, cylindrical chapel.

"_I mean, seriously! Why did I have to even come on this trip?"_

"Honestly, I'm surprised they even let you in the front gate." Kim said as their unexpected guests came into view.

A well-tanned face spun around in surprise at the remark, teal eyes growing wide within a frame of close-cut brown hair.

"Kim?" the shocked visage of Bonnie Rockwaller stammered.

"Bonnie." Kim offered flatly in return.

"Kim Possible?" Junior gaped.

"Junior." Ron observed, stepping up beside Kim.

"Person whose name once again escapes me?"

"Okay, exactly _how_ long have we been arch foes now? 'Cause this is just getting ridiculous. Oh, hey there Bon-bon." he added, almost as an afterthought. "Looking beautiful as never, I see."

"Save it, _loser!"_ Bonnie barked in return. "Just what are you and your so-called girlfriend doing here anyway? Besides annoying me, obviously."

"Looking for the same thing you are, judging by your entourage." Kim replied, crossing her arms akimbo and nodding to the aging part-time villain and his perpetually disappointing progeny.

"Annoying you is just a fringe benefit." Ron casually added.

"Why don't you go take a long walk down a short pier and hug an octopus, Stoppable?"

"Why don't _you_ go be obscene and not heard?"

"Why do we not _all_ simply calm down and show a measure civility to one another?" the elder Senior broke in, clearly showing his old-school displeasure with the sudden lack of decorum. "Such boorish behavior is not becoming of accepted villain/hero protocol, nor of our current surroundings."

"He's right, guys." Kim reluctantly agreed. "Insults and expletives aren't going to help the sitch any."

"Why? The neighbors don't seem to be complaining." Ron panned, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder at the rows of polished stones surrounding them.

"Not helping, Ron." Kim growled ominously.

"Alright… alright… I yield to upper management then." He meekly conceded.

Everyone present nodded in agreement, although Bonnie qualified her acquiescence by crossing her arms and snorting loudly.

"You're still a loser." She mumbled under her breath.

"Stick it in your ear, Queen B." he bit back.

"_Annnnnnnd…_ cut scene!" Kim growled, glaring at the two and driving her point home with a slashing motion across her throat. She had to agree with her geriatric foe that the ongoing battle of wits was a ferocious annoyance, but on the other hand she found herself pleasantly surprised as well. Throughout their high school days, Ron would invariably absorb the buxom brunette's insults and attitude unflinchingly and without response: The near constant wave of belittling seeming to roll over him like water off a duck's back, leaving him unflustered and unfazed. Bonnie treated him as if he was her personal doormat, and he treated her as if she didn't even exist.

And so to see her boyfriend suddenly growing a spine and standing up to the social queen's venom came as something of a shock. Thinking back, she had to admit that it had been building for some time. There had been inklings during senior homecoming week, when circumstances had conspired to essentially make the brunette a (thankfully) temporary member of the team. But much had happened in the months since then, and in that intervening time, the tow-headed blonde had developed quite a backbone, it now appeared.

And she had to admit that it looked quite good on him.

But Ron's sudden display of reverse-scoliosis was not the most urgent matter at hand, and so she returned her attention to the treacherous trio before her.

"All right then," she began, "let's pretend for a moment that we don't already know the answer to this and ask just what it is that you're doing here."

"Well as the tone of your question clearly implies, my young lady, the answer is obvious." The evil octogenarian chortled. "A competition amongst the greatest evil minds in the world to obtain limitless power? As a cultured student of villainy, how could I refuse such a challenge?"

"How indeed." Kim pondered, considering that with the elderly debutante's zest for all things difficult and note-worthy, crossing paths with him on this mission was perhaps only a matter of time.

"But personal goal-setting aside," she quickly continued, "we need to figure a way of dealing with this sitch. 'Cause as I see it, we're both after the same thing and neither of us wants to start slugging it out on hallowed ground."

"As usual, your assessment of the circumstances is quite correct." The elder Senior agreed. "It would behoove us not to sully such a place with violence. Not when the past holds so much as it is."

"Okay, so breaking out the can of whoop-ass isn't an option then. That leaves us with non-violent means." Ron pondered aloud, thoughtfully tapping his chin. "If only we had some of those."

"Think hard." Kim panned, casting a hooded glance in his direction.

"That'll be the day." Bonnie muttered.

"Okay, I've got it!" Ron suddenly shouted. "I'm thinking of a number between one and ten!"

"Ron, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Kim moaned.

"How about rock-paper-scissors?" Junior offered.

"Two out of three?" Ron inquired, stepping up and placing the fist of his right hand into the palm of his left.

"Or why don't we just all read the darn thing and be on our own, merry, pointless ways?" Bonnie cried out in exasperation, drawing the attention of all present.

For several seconds, silence reigned amongst the small group with only the roar of the surf below to break the eerie calm.

"You mean… _sharing?"_ Junior finally asked, blinking in confusion, first at his seething girlfriend and then at the young blond standing beside him.

"Um, okay. Sharing works… I guess." Ron shrugged non-committaly.

"Agreed. It would," Kim conceded somewhat reluctantly, "if we _knew_ what it was we were looking for! But that's the funny thing about cooperating, Bonnie: You can't share what you don't have."

"Speak for yourself, Kim." Bonnie shot back with a self-satisfied smirk plastered across her flawless face. "While you four stooges were busy slapping each other around, I was busy finding _this!"_

She thrust a finger toward the base of the chapel, directing the group's attention to one stone in particular whose semi-smooth surface was partially obscured by a layer of moss. The marble slab was old and worn from the coastal elements, but a close inspection revealed a portion of the surface that had been recently cleaned. Even closer inspections revealed even more detail, including a series of block-like letters carved into the pitted stone.

"Oooooohhh! My precious Bonikins found that which we have been looking for," Junior positively gushed, "even though it has importance which I do not understand."

"Wait! _Bonnie_ found the clue?" Ron gasped in astonishment before turning to his girlfriend with a pained expression.

"We're never gonna live this down, are we?" he asked plaintively.

"Not if we live to be a hundred and fifty." Kim dejectedly groaned.

"Don't feel bad, K." Bonnie sing-songed, rubbing her knuckles smugly across the front of her blouse. "Not everyone can be a natural-born sleuth."

"And not everyone can be a natural-born pain-in-the-neck either." Kim drawled, roughly brushing past the brunet to inspect the carvings. "Guess that makes you a double-threat."

Shadows formed across the stone as Kim activated the LED flashlight within her Kimmunicator, and the recessed letters seemingly leapt to life as a result, broadcasting their message to all those present…

I-5 V-10 IV-15

AW CH ME BV JU RX QT

CFLC VYELS VNMJDBL ITKPW OPEM YTAFH…

PYDF UPHKTCKTP XSOJP FMIV AMXMNYP XPGM…

GZ NHZYZ UNFNX SLNPT NAA NLODRGCR…

ZLCNO DCOL XUJQ, FRI CCBOGP CRR.

"Yep. No doubt about it." Ron remarked as the small gaggle of humanity pressed in close for a better look. "That's officially the worst spell-checker I've ever seen."

"It's not miss-spelled, dweeb." Bonnie rudely snorted. "It's written in code."

"An encrypted riddle." Kim lamented aloud. "Ugh! Why did I ever allow myself to think that this might actually be easy?"

"Dunno, K." Bonnie snarked, haughtily inspecting her immaculately polished nails. "But I've done my part with finding the thing. You want to know what it _says…_ That's your problem."

"Ooh! Let me give it a shot!" Ron cried out, shoving his way between the two Seniors for a close inspection. "I'm really good with coded messages!"

"You _are?"_ the elder Senior asked with polite skepticism.

"Since _when?"_ Bonnie inquired, somewhat less tactfully.

"Since last week. _That's_ when!" Ron defensively responded. "At breakfast one morning, I totally found a hidden message in my Alpha-bits! Strangest thing, too. All it said was _'Ooooooooo.'"_

"Ron, those were Cherrieos." Kim sighed, causing her boyfriend's defiant expression to suddenly and traumatically deflate.

"Oh, really? Well then I've got nothing." He quickly shrugged, withdrawing himself to the rear of the group.

Kim gently massaged the bridge of her nose, silently wishing that someone would bring this day to a merciful end.

"Okay, big-picture moment." She sighed. "Fact one: We're all here because we're after the same thing. Fact two: We've all found said thing, but because it's in code… Fact three: None of us can understand it. Have I left anything out?" she concluded, turning to the group.

"That would seem to be an accurate assessment." Junior agreed.

"Yeah, I'd say that's the full list." Ron concurred.

"All right then," Kim pushed on, "so since we're all in agreement on the sitch, that just leaves the question of what we're gonna do about all of this."

"So what, then?" Ron asked expectantly. "You're asking for suggestions?"

"If you've got something to offer, I'm all ears." Kim confirmed.

All those present fell silent in thoughtful contemplation as each sorted through their unusual circumstances.

"Wait! Isn't this not the point in our past encounters where we engage in the fighting, or at least effeminate screaming of some sort?" Junior pondered aloud.

"My screaming is not effema… effemeral… _whatever_ you just said!" Ron defensively barked. "But I gotta agree though. This _does_ seem to be the spot where we usually start duking it out."

"Not the place, Ron." Kim pointed out, gesturing at the ranks of silent stone slabs. "And besides, violence doesn't get us anything if we both know the clue."

"Yeah, yeah… I see your point." Ron agreed, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Man, when you put it that way, this whole thing just seems like a giant draw. Kinda like GWA's _Smack-down in Sioux City_ last month."

"Come again?"

"You know… Pain King? Steel Toe? Five-hour match? The almost-infamous never-ending-neck-lock?"

"Yeah, kinda the wrong audience here."

"_Ahem!"_

The sound of the senior Senior clearing his throat quickly brought everyone's head around. For a long moment he regarded the group with a wise and vaguely judgmental gaze, seeming to consider his words carefully as he tailored what he was about to say to his current audience.

"While I do not understand this thing of which mister Stoppable speaks,…" the evil octogenarian smoothly and elegantly stated.

"_He remembered my name! Score!"_ Ron enthusiastically squeaked from the back.

"…I do believe that he is quite correct on one matter." The elder Senior continued. "Our current circumstances would tend to indicate that a draw of sorts has been reached. We have both achieved our stated goal, and are both hobbled by the same obstacle. And since further conflict does not serve the furtherance of our chosen quest, I humbly suggest that we each withdraw to continue our efforts of our own time and resources."

"Whoa! Whoa! Hold the phone for a sec." Ron suddenly spoke up, waving his hands exaggeratedly. "You're saying we all just up and _walk away?"_

"_Pffft!_ Fine by me." Bonnie snorted derisively, crossing her arms defiantly. "I'm all for anything that puts more distance between me and you two social rejects."

Ron was about to fire back at Middleton's reigning social queen when a restraining hand from his girlfriend silenced him.

"Senior Senior has a point, Ron." She said resignedly. "We've got what we came for, so let's just wrap things up here and go find someplace quiet to regroup."

"Finally!" came Bonnie's exasperated gasp: A comment which Kim roundly ignored as she turned to the aging villain in their midst and matched his expression of refined countenance with a dignified glare of her own.

"Very well Senior Senior Senior," She said, looking him directly in the eyes, "we'll let this one go as a wash, but be aware that the next time we meet, things probably won't end so peacefully."

"Of that, Miss Possible," the diabolical debutante charmingly grinned, "I have no doubt."

"Well, this little reunion has certainly been a blast, Kim." Bonnie called out as the two groups separated and began walking in opposite directions. "We really should do it again sometime. I'm available the week after _never!"_

As was her wont, Kim simply ignored the brunette beauty's parting shot. But Ron, on the other hand, pulled up short and cast a dirty look back over his shoulder, a malicious and mischievous sneer spreading across his lips.

"You know, Bonnie." He said, grinning like a cat that just ate a prized canary. "I've sort of developed a theory about why you're such a bitch."

The buxom brunette, who to that moment had been walking away, spun on her heels to face the tow-headed blond, teal eyes blazing with a barely contained furry at the sheer audacity of his remark.

"Ex-_scuse_ me?" she growled ominously.

Kim reached out to draw him back, but Ron simply shrugged off the restraining hand. To his credit, he seemed anything but cowed by the display of social indignity. Stepping up toe-to-to with his eternal tormentor, he matched her repulsed glare with his own.

"You see, the way I figure it," he began flatly, "you first became popular because you developed early and started giving out hand-jobs at the age of twelve. But now days you can't stand to look in the mirror because all you see staring back at you is a _whore._ So you pick on Kim and me and people like us as a form of self-distraction. That way you can avoid the inevitable realization that by the time your body's all used up at twenty-five, you'll be a dried-out, chalky-skinned burlap sack that even your perverted deadbeat of a step-dad wouldn't want. Now how am I doing so far? Am I in the ballpark?"

"Wha… but… YOU… little… just… but… _Bwaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!"_ she bawled, turning and sprinting away into the sea of headstones.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.'" Ron self-satisfactorily sneered.

"Come back, my little turtle dove!" Junior called out, quickly dashing after his girlfriend's retreating form. "Your chalky complexion is actually quite beautiful and accents your disposition marvelously!"

The elder Senior leaned heavily on his cane and shook his head in resigned disbelief. He regarded the two heroes before him with an apologetic glance before slowly plodding after his overly excited companions, silently lamenting what had become of his so-called "golden years."

"Laid it on a little thick there, didn't you?" Kim asked, stepping up beside her boyfriend, who simply stood arms akimbo with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"The truth hurts, KP." He stated flatly, shaking his head. "And if people can't deal, then it's not my problem."

"C'mon, mister honesty. Let's go." Kim sighed, taking Ron by the arm and leading the two of them back toward the cliffs. "We need to get a hold of Wade and figure out our next move. And I'd prefer to be somewhere else when we do."

* * *

"So what do you think?" Kim asked, looking expectantly at her brown-eyed companion as he lazily took a sip of his iced coffee.

"I think Marvel Comics should bring back Captain America and kill Ritchie Rich instead." He answered with a shrug.

"…About the _riddle_ sitch." Came the exasperated groan.

"Oh, _right."_ Ron responded, lowering his cup and wiping his face with a swipe of his sleeve. "Well, while you know the Ron-man is all about lending the assist when called upon," he said, "I gotta be straight and admit that this is just a little bit out of my league."

"Yeah, I know." Kim sighed in utter resignation. "Wade's gone over it with every decryption protocol and algorithm he can think of… _twice!_ And yet still…"

"We've got bupkis." Ron completed, echoing the frustration that both teens were feeling. Placing his cup down on the table, he took a contemplative glance about their current surroundings.

Upon leaving the cemetery an hour before, the residual emotions from their confrontation with the Seniors were still running high, so it had been decided that what they really needed was a quiet place to review their circumstances and think. A quick check of the map had soon led them to a small village just a stone's throw inland from the coast, and the atmosphere had proven most inviting. The map identified this idyllic corner of France as "Carentan," but for the two of them, it might as well have been called "Decompression Central."

"He even used a decoder ring that he found in a cereal box." Kim sighed, dejectedly lowering her head onto the table.

"You mean one of those new _Captain Constellation Crypto-Power_ rings?" Ron inquired, his eyes perking up. "Man, I've been wanting one of those!"

"Glad to see you're staying so positive." Kim grimaced.

"Well you gotta admit, there's not much else I can do for the situation." He shrugged apologetically. "Like I said, this stuff is way out of my league."

He took a long, philosophical stare at his coffee before raising the cup to his lips for another sip. Taking a long, sensuous draw of its contents, he lowered the porcelain vessel once more and let go with a satisfied sigh before offering his further thoughts on their shared predicament.

"But on the other hand, we really shouldn't be surprised." He thought aloud, leaning back in his chair to study the blue sky above. "I mean, so far Doc DaLive has been all over the map with these things. Different continents… different contexts… His motives and movements have been about as predictable as a ping-pong ball in a rubber room." He sighed again, almost pleading to the heavens for answers.

"Yep. There's no way around it." He finally concluded, lowering his gaze back to a more earthly plane. "The good doctor is a living enigma."

Tipping his cup high one final time, he drained the last of the sweet brown liquid down his throat and let loose with a small belch.

"So do we want another round on the drinks, or are we good to go?" he asked with an expectant glance in the direction of his girlfriend. But neither his question nor his pleading look garnered any response from his redheaded companion. Kim's face was frozen in a look of stunned introspection, all of her attentions turned inward, the wheels of her mind spinning wildly away.

"Uhhhhhh, _hello…_ Earth to KP!" he called out expectantly, repeatedly snapping his fingers in front of his girlfriend's face. "Collect call for Miss Kimberly Anne Possible. Do you except the charges?"

At his prompting, Kim's eyes suddenly blinked twice and she violently shook her head to clear her senses.

"You okay there, KP?" Ron asked concernedly. "'Cause you kinda spaced out there for a sec."

"Yeah… yeah. I'm fine, Ron." She quickly insisted. "I just had a thought is all."

"Must've been a pretty deep thought." Ron chuckled, settling back into his chair. "It looked like you'd completely fallen in."

"I suppose it was." Kim replied with a knowing smile that seemed just slightly out of place. "But the Cliff Notes version of it all is that I think you're on to something."

"Oh, I know I am." Ron crowed, leaning back and crossing his arms in a self-satisfied manner before the inevitable question crossed his mind.

"Uh, onto _what?"_ he meekly asked.

"That Doctor DaLive is a living enigma." Was Kim's straightforward reply as she activated the Kimmunicator on her wrist.

"Uhhhh, beg pardon?"

"Just go with me on this." She insisted. "You've given me an idea here."

It wasn't but a few moments longer before Wade's cherubic face was once again filling the tiny screen.

"Hey guys!" He chirped, although somewhat lees cheerfully than normal. "Sorry to be such a drag, but I'm still hitting a dead end on this code thing. I'm trying some different sub-routines though, so don't give up hope just yet."

"Well stick a pin in those and get back to them later." Kim said, not bothering with the usual formalities. "What if Doctor DaLive meant for the location itself to be part of the decryption key?"

"Why? What are you getting at?" Wade asked, his interest clearly perked.

"Is there any chance that the message was based on the wartime Enigma codes that the Germans used?"

"The _what_ codes?" Ron asked, having shifted around to Kim's side of the table for a better view of the screen.

"Ugh. _This_ is why you need to pay attention in history class, Ron." Kim roughly admonished. "The Enigma was a cipher machine used by the Germans throughout the entire war. Totally state-of-the-art and supposedly un-crackable… They sent absolutely _everything_ on those machines. Too bad for them that the Allies were much better code-breakers that they thought."

"As are you, Kim." Wade responded, suddenly rejoining the conversation. "I just did some checking, and everything seems to line up."

"Well then don't keep us in suspense." Ron enthused. "Lay it on us, my man!"

"Okay, it's like this." Wade began, scanning his banks of monitors closely. "The first two lines are instructions for setting up the machine. Line one is the ring settings, telling us which rotors to use and what the offsets should be. Line two is how to configure the plug board at the base of the machine. There's a series of jumper cables for transposing letters and if you plug everything in just so, it'll scramble and de-scramble everything the same way."

"And the rest of the alphabet soup?"

"That's the message in its coded form." Wade answered. "With one of the original machines, or in our case, a working digital replica of one," he patted the CPU tower next to his chair for effect, "we feed that into the works and we _should_ get plain English out the other end."

"Well then what're we waiting for?" Ron almost cried out. "Let's get this thing solved and get a head start on Larry, Moe and Bitchy back there!"

"'Fraid it's not that simple, Ron." Wade shook his head forlornly, causing the blonde's jubilant mood to immediately crash.

"Somehow, it never is." Kim dejectedly groaned.

"In order to set up the machine for sending or receiving," Wade continued explaining, "a pair of 'tri-grams' were used. It sounds fancy, I know, but it's just a pair of three-letter sequences used for calibrating the machines. The first set was entered as the starting position for the three rotors, then the second set was entered on the keyboard for encryption. Whatever three letters the machine spit out in response… _Those_ became the new rotor starting positions, and then the process of communicating would _really_ begin."

"Great. Any ideas on what Doctor Feel-good's three favorite letters are?" Kim sarcastically drawled.

"Not for Doctor DaLive, no." Wade admitted with a shake of his head. "But back in the day, the Germans had a rather predictable system. Usually, they'd take a six-letter word that everyone knew and break it in half. So if the first tri-gram was 'B-E-R,' then it was almost a sure bet that the second was 'L-I-N.'"

"Oh, I get it!" Ron broke in. "And 'H-I-T' would be followed up with 'L-E-R!'"

"Exactly." Wade confirmed. "It made calibrating the equipment easier on the operators. Of course the down side was that it also made things easier for the allied code breakers."

"Or the up-side," Ron pointed out, "'cause that's really matter of perspective."

"Fair 'nuff." Wade shrugged. "So how 'bout it, guys? Any ideas on what painfully obvious yet incredibly difficult thing Doctor DaLive might be using as his code key?"

For more than a minute, the trio fell silent, allowing only the sound of traffic and the occasional clanking of dishes to intrude upon their collective ponderance. Each sorted through every alphabetic nuance and reference that he or she could think of, sifting again and again through what little they knew of the reclusive genius and his eccentric ways.

And as usual, it was Kim whose face first showed the flash of a knowing grin.

"Try 'D-A-L' and 'I-V-E,' Wade." She smiled triumphantly into the screen.

"His own name?" Ron gasped indignantly. "No way! No _way_ it could be _that _easy!"

"It could be, and it _is."_ Wade confirmed, his own grin having suddenly grown to match Kim's. "I just ran it through the system and it all checks out."

"So… then… you know what the clue is?" Ron expectantly asked, leaning forward in his chair until he was in eminent danger of face-planting onto the sidewalk.

The triumphant and knowing smile that spread across the young webmaster's face quickly told him all he needed to know.

"Oh _yeah!"_ Wade grinned, steepling his fingers across his chest and coolly leaning back in his chair…

"I know _exactly_ what the clue is."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Okay, first things first.

Before I go any farther with this, please let me apologize for having taken so long in getting this chapter out to press. Sixteen months is _way_ too long to go between updates, regardless of extenuating circumstances. Along the way I got distracted, lost interest, and lost the narrative, and it was ultimately you, as the loyal readers of this tale, who wound up paying the price. The bottom line is that I let this one fall through the cracks, and that should never happen. Period. End of story.

So _anyhoooo…_ Onward and upward:

Well, it looks like Wade has figured out what the next clue is. But the _real_ question however, is whether _you_ can figure it out.

For those of you who would like to try your hand at amateur cryptology, you can run a Google search with the key words "Enigma Simulator Download," and near the top of the results list there should be a URL address that reads something along the lines of "users dot telnet dot be slash _(some Nordic-sounding guy's name)_ slash en slash _(you get the idea…)_

Go to that site to download a free digital replica of a working enigma machine. Read the attached FAQ file to learn the basics on how it operates, then just follow the instructions as Wade described them. If you do everything right, you should be on your way to solving the riddle joining Team Possible on their quest in no time!

Now as for your recommended daily allotment of pointless historical minutia…

_Colleville sur Mer:_ Situated atop coastal bluffs overlooking the English Channel, Colleville sur Mer, (translation: Colleville by the Sea), is a commune in the Calvados department in the Basse-Normandie region in northwestern France. It's an area known for open fields and pasturelands leading directly up to the bluffs, below which wide swaths of gradually sloping sand run out into a gentle surf. Largely rural and undeveloped even today, the area has little military value and seems an unlikely target for a major operation. In short, it was just what allied planers in the summer of 1944 were looking for.

Designated as one of five major landing zones for "Operation Overlord," dawn on the morning June 6th, 1944 found more than 7,000 ships appearing from behind a line of rain squalls all along the Normandy coast. Under heavy fire and with little to no cover, British, American and Canadian troops stormed the beaches, taking horrendous casualties in some cases, especially on the beach below Colleville sur Mer. For much of the morning, the issue was very much in doubt, but by early afternoon allied troops had fought their way to the top of the bluff and neutralized the first line of German defenses. Europe, or at least a small seaside sliver of it, belonged to the Allies.

Two days later on June 8th, the American First Army established a semi-permanent burial area on the bluffs overlooking the beach, marking the first American cemetery of the war to be established on foreign soil. Following the war, plans for a more permanent memorial were made, and the graves were relocated a short distance east from the original site.

Today, the 172-acre complex overlooking what is now known as "Omaha Beach" contains the remains of 9,387 American military dead from both Overlord and subsequent operations, as well as American airmen who were shot down over Europe prior to the invasion. To the east side of the grounds, a semi-circular colonnade and garden contains the inscribed names of 1,557 American servicemen whose remains could not be located or identified. Elsewhere, flags and statues commemorate the cooperation between America and France that helped make victory in Europe possible.

_Pointe du Hoc:_ Sometimes erroneously referred to as "Pointe du Hoe," thanks to an unfortunate typo committed by an American military cartographer, Pointe du Hoc is a rocky promontory jutting out into the English Channel from the Normandy Coast. It's 100-foot seaside cliffs and commanding views of the surrounding coastline made it a natural defensive position, and the German Wermacht fortified the cliff tops as such with a battery of six captured 155-millimeter artillery guns starting in late 1942. Housed inside casemates of reinforced concrete and protected by multiple machine gun emplacements, allied planners worried that air strikes and naval bombardments alone would not be enough to neutralize these weapons, and from their exposed position on the point, the German garrison could rain fire down upon either the Omaha or Utah beachheads. Something needed to be done.

The task of doing that something fell to the Second Ranger Battalion of the U. S. Army. Led by Lieutenant Colonel James Earl Rudder, three companies of Rangers landed at the base of the cliffs shortly after dawn on June 6th and began scaling the steep escarpments with rocket-propelled rope ladders. Working beneath a hail of covering fire from the destroyers U.S.S. Satterlee and H.M.S. Talybont, Rudder's Rangers ascended the cliffs, and much to their consternation, found the massive casemates to be empty: Fearing just such an assault, the German high command had moved the guns inland to a more protected location.

Undaunted by this setback, however, the Rangers regrouped and began to fight their way inland. Both fighting and losses were heavy, but shortly before noon, an advance patrol found the guns hidden in an apple orchard about a mile from the beach, pre-sighted onto Utah Beach. The young G.I.s thought fast and acted faster, and within minutes a series of thermite grenades ensured that those particular guns would never fire another round.

But the fight for the point was far from over, and as they retreated back toward the beach, Rudder's men came under fierce and repeated counter-attacks from elements of the Wermacht's 916th Grenadier-Regiment. Determined to hold the vital ground although isolated from friendly forces and outnumbered by the German garrison, the Rangers dug in amongst the bombed-out casemates and trenches and fought back through the night. By the time elements of the American 29th Infantry Division and 116th Infantry Regiment broke through from Omaha Beach to relieve the Rangers on the morning of June 7th, only 90 members of the original 255-man assault force were still in fighting condition.

For just a small taste of what the battle for Pointe du Hoc was like, pick up the game "Call of Duty 2" at your local electronics retailer and play the mission "The Battle of Pointe du Hoc."

And keep in mind that this is just a digital interpretation of the event… Reality was much, _much_ worse.

_Carentan:_ Situated just a short distance from the coast at the base of the Cotentin Peninsula, Carentan was a significant crossroads town where four major highways and a railroad line converged along the banks of the Douve River. This made the city strategically important to both sides of the conflict: To the Americans, as a marshalling point where armored columns moving up from the Omaha and Utah Beachheads could link up and consolidate before pushing inland, and to the Germans, as a means of denying said advantages to the Americans. In this way the Germans could keep Allied forces bottled up on the beaches, leaving them more vulnerable to eventual counter-attack.

The battle for Carentan began in the early morning hours of June 10th, when the 3rd Battalion of the 502nd Parachute Infantry Regiment began advancing along a narrow causeway running through river marshes that bordered the western edge of town. Although slowed by enemy artillery, machine gun and sniper fire, the Americans eventually entered the town and engaged with two paratroop battalions of the 6th Fallschirmjäger Regiment. _(Literally, Parachute-fighter Regiment.)_ Fierce street fighting ensued, but by dusk on June 12th the city was in American hands. Exhausted and suffering from heavy casualties, the 502nd PIR moved into the hedgerows southwest of town and dug in for the night.

Dawn on June 13th brought an unwelcome surprise for the American units, as a heavy counter-attack struck their left flank. Two battalions of the 37th Panzergrenadier Regiment, supported by tanks and assault guns of the 17th Panzer Battalion, smashed into the American line, driving them back toward Carentan. Disaster was averted however, when a stubborn defense by Company E of the 506th PIR blunted the attack and stabilized the line shortly before noon.

The tables then turned early in the afternoon when M4 Sherman tanks of the Second Armored Division arrived on the scene. Reacting to ULTRA intercepts warning of a massive counter-attack, General Omar Bradley had diverted elements of 2nd Armored from the town of Isigny toward Carentan around 10:30, and by two o'clock, Brigadier General Maurice Rose was leading an attack supported by self-propelled howitzers of the 14th Armored Field Artillery Battalion. Racing down the road to Baupte, one column of tanks and mechanized infantry slammed headlong into the flank of the German thrust, decimating several platoons and stopping the advance in its tracks. Meanwhile, a second column swung around the battlefield following the Periers Highway and struck the main body of the German force, inflicting heavy losses in both men and equipment. Stunned by the sudden one-two punch, German morale flagged and surviving forces fell back in disarray, never again to threaten Carentan.

Following the battle, Carentan became a key rallying point and supply depot for Operation Cobra and the subsequent Allied breakout from Normandy. Units supplied and deployed from this area were key in executing the Falaise Pocket Encirclement, obliterating the German Fifth and Seventh Panzer Armies and opening the door for the eventual liberation of Paris.

And last, but certainly not least in this chapter…

_The Enigma:_ For as long as there have been military organizations, there have been military secrets. And throughout history, the interest taken by these organizations in finding new ways of keeping those secrets has been second only to their interest in finding new ways of killing one another.

One of the most famous examples of this unseen shadow war was developed by a German engineer named Arthur Scherbius near the end of World War One. A complex box stuffed with circuitry and electro-mechanical parts, his machine worked off the principal of a simple substitution cipher. But by combining a trio of interconnected rotating drums with variable offsets and wiring them through a customizable plug board, he was able to create a system of mind-numbing complexity with an estimated 15,000,000,000,000,000,000 (that's fifteen billion _billion_) possible settings upon which the machine could be calibrated and used.

Scherbius christened his creation with the brand name of "Enigma," and offered it for commercial sale starting in the 1920s. Several national governments and military organizations were quick to purchase the unit, and most made after-market modifications to render their particular machines unique. Most, if not _all_ customers summarily declared the new mechanical wonders to be un-crackable.

But as is often the case throughout history, true security is little more than a comfortable illusion, and misplaced confidence in technology invariably leads to trouble.

In December of 1932, the Polish Cipher Bureau first broke Germany's Enigma ciphers and on July 25th of 1939, just five weeks before the outbreak of World War Two, the bureau passed Enigma-decryption techniques and equipment to agents of French and British military intelligence at a secret meeting outside of Warsaw.

The intelligence gained from this clandestine rendezvous would eventually grow into Project Ultra: The super-secret intelligence effort to not just crack the Enigma, but to break it wide open and read its secrets at will. Headquartered at a palatial Renaissance estate north of London called Bletchley Park, Ultra sifted through reams of encrypted documents, searching for clues that might provide insight into the inner workings of the machine, and how the German high command was using it.

Along the way, allied intelligence staffers came up with innovative solutions to speed up the sifting of data. Cryptologist Marian Rejewski created a machine with banks of rotating electro-mechanical cylinders that mimicked the motions of the Enigma rotors. Dubbed the "Bomb" for the ticking sound it made when operating, it effectively took an encrypted message and ran it through a series of thousands upon thousands of possible settings until the correct decryption key was found.

In another example, a postal clerk by the name of Thomas Flowers created a machine that performed the same function as Rejewski's Bomb, but at a vastly accelerated rate. Named "Colossus" by the project's hierarchy, the machine replaced the ticking cylinders of the Bomb with vacuum tubes and fed data into the system via a punched paper tape which ran at speeds of up to 30 miles per hour, allowing Colossus to process messages at the then-unheard of speed of 5,000 characters per second.

Classified as an official state secret following the war, the existence of Colossus was not publicly known until 1976. But official secrecy aside, it stands alone as nothing less than the world's first programmable computer.

And most historians agree that it, along with Rejewski's Bomb, the Polish Cipher Bureau, and all of the men and women who made up Project Ultra, ultimately served to shorten the duration of the war by as many as two years, and may have had a profound effect on the final outcome itself.

Well folks, I think that just about wraps thins up for out latest installment of this little tale. Hopefully the next one won't be so long in coming, but if I've learned anything form this ordeal it's that you never really know what lies beyond the next bend in the road.

As usual… read, review, and receive a reply.

Take care!

_Nutzkie…_


	16. When Duty Calls, It Calls Collect

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Sixteen ~**

_High above amongst clear blue skies…_

_Four sentinels watch with granite eyes…_

_An honor guard regal for eternity…_

_Where many look, but seldom see._

The words of Wade's most recent message rang in her ears, repeating themselves over and over like a cracked record, or a catchy tune that couldn't put out of one's head without resorting to therapy or expensive elective surgery. Beautiful to be sure, in its own hypnotically lyrical way, but nonetheless annoying as the poetic refrain echoed through the corridors of her mind in a never-ending loop of confusion and perplexity.

What did it all mean? Granted, most if not all of Doctor DaLive's messages fell toward the cryptic side of things, but this seemed to be breaking new ground. Was the term "granite eyes" a literal reference to a statue? Or was it meant metaphorically, referring to some person with a particularly hard gaze? Height and elevation seemed to be part of the answer as well, but once again, there was the question of how literal versus figurative the doctor was speaking. It could mean so many things. For when you got right down to it, the simple concept of "height" really wasn't so simple at all.

But such thoughts of double-meanings and metaphors could wait for another day, and Kim roughly pushed them aside as she started up the walk of a very familiar single-family home. For unbeknownst to one of its occupants, she had planed for a day of blissful marination, and she would be darned if she would let something as silly as a unsolved riddle get in the way of that.

Entering through the front door and walking into the kitchen, she was somewhat taken aback to find said boyfriend on his knees with his head under the sink, furiously scribbling notes onto a clipboard. Being well accustomed to his "never be normal" approach to life, such weirdness was something she had come to expect from him. But to spite this familiarity, somehow each and every new curveball still found a way throw her just a bit off-balance.

"Do I even _want_ to know?" she sighed in utter resignation.

"Oh, hey KP." He greeted, withdrawing himself from the shadows just enough to flash her a friendly grin. "Just experimenting with a little something that I found on the internet."

"Really? What's that?"

"The internet? Well in the beginning, Al Gore envisioned it as a series of tubes…"

"I meant what are you _experimenting_ with?"

"Oh, that. Just a little story about using nasal spray to repel household pests."

"Nasal spray?"

"Yeah. Something about them not liking steroids or whatever."

"So what's the verdict?"

"Mixed. The roaches seem to have packed up and left, but the ants actually seem to like it." Ron sighed in frustration as he motioned toward the window above the sink. "And I gotta say, they're bulking up rather nicely."

"Bulking up?" Kim asked, stealing a glance through said window, cringing at a momentary "Roachie" flashback. "I ferociously hope that sounds worse than… wait! Are they _bench pressing_ your dad's _barbecue?"_

"Part of their new strength training regimen." Ron shrugged. "I've already gotten three calls from big league scouts."

"Terrific! So _now_ what are you going to do, Mister Wizard?"

"I'm thinking I'll probably sign 'em with the White Sox. They _really_ need somebody for the Designated Hitter slot going into the playoffs."

"Ugh! You can't be serious!" Kim groaned, slapping a hand across her face.

"Well I'd love to be a hometown fan about it, but the Rockies are _National_ League!" Ron exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "And with Gonzalez coming off the DL list next week they don't really need a power hitter right now! Although if Tulowitzki keeps swinging at junk down and away like he has been…"

"_SO_ not the point I was trying to make!"

"Soooooooo, you're saying I should be talking to Cleveland instead?"

"_Errrrrrrrrgh!_ Why don't we just forget I said anything about it, alright!"

"Meh, suit yourself. So what's up?"

"Nothin' much." Kim shrugged, taking a few deep, calming breaths. "Just had a few free hours and thought that after that last mission we could use some decompression time."

"Mmmmm, a little R&R sounds nice." Ron grinned, looking up from his notes. "Anything specific that you had in mind?"

"Well I thought maybe we could take in a movie," Kim pondered, placing a thoughtful finger to her chin, "or go for a walk in the park, or hang at the mall…"

_*Beep-beep-de-beep*_

"Or go on _another_ mission…" Ron added dryly.

Kim's groan of frustration was barely audible as she reached to the small device on her wrist.

"What's the sitch, Wade?" she asked, doing an excellent job of hiding her disappointment.

"Bad juju coming out of the Caribbean, Kim." Wade responded, not even bothering to look up from the dazzling array of computer monitors before him. "And it's _not_ another hurricane."

Kim flashed the young Webmaster a knowing smirk.

"Uh huh. And would this juju happen to be emanating from a supposedly haunted island with which we're intimately familiar?" she panned.

"How'd you guess?" the pre-teen tech guru smirked right back.

"With those two it's never hard." Kim sighed dejectedly. "So what's the four-one-one on our dastardly duo?"

"Not sure." Wade shrugged, Looking up from his system and taking a long, drawn-out pull from his ever-present soft drink. "But credit card transactions show that Drakken just bought a high-intensity directional emitter array on line."

"Hmmmmm, yeah." Ron pondered, by now having abandoned his note taking and joined the conversation over Kim's shoulder. "I've got no idea what any of that means, but it sounds suspiciously like a bad thing."

"It's Drakken and Shego, Ron." Kim pointed out. "Is it ever a _good_ thing?"

"Okay, point taken."

"And to answer the other part of your question," Wade broke in, "a high-intensity directional emitter is something scientists use to concentrate energy into a highly-focused beam and project it toward a specific point in space."

"Huh?"

"It's a big laser canon, okay?"

"Aw man!" Ron whined, rolling his eyes. _"Another_ giant ray gun plot? That's the third time this year! Ya' know, after a while, do you get the impression that sometimes the bad guys just stop trying?"

"At least he's consistent." Wade offered weakly.

"True," Ron responded glumly, "but I still like to see people taking pride in their work."

"Which brings us back to the issue at hand." Kim spoke up, drawing everyone's attention. "So what's the final equation?"

"Uh, Drakken plus death ray thingy equals bad juju?" Ron offered.

"You know, for someone with math issues, you figure pretty well." Kim grinned at him.

"I could have answered that too." Wade pointed out, defensively crossing his arms.

"So not my point, but understood just the same." The redhead offered. "So how are we set ride-wise? The Tweebs still have the Sloth half-disassembled with that new suspension kit they're installing, and Ron's bird is still down with those _electrical_ issues in the panel." She said the tail end of the statement with an accusatory glance toward her boyfriend."

"Oh puh-leeze!" Ron moaned, throwing his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. "You spill one slurpster in the cockpit and people won't let you forget it!"

"_Most_ people don't take open soft drinks up with them when they're gonna be pulling six Gs." Kim shot back.

"Guys… guys!" Wade cried out, grabbing the attention of both teens. "I've got it taken care of. There's a flight leaving Middleton in an hour and I snagged two seats, provided you don't mind doing a minor favor in return."

"Always glad to help." Kim pointed out.

"Super! I'm sending a car your way right now. That'll get you to the airport, and your flight should be waiting when you get there."

"Spankin' as usual Wade. How long do we have?"

"In your driveway in fifteen."

"Then we better get moving. Thanks Wade! Kim out." And she severed the digital connection.

"You heard the genius, Ron." She instructed, turning and heading toward the upstairs closet where she kept a spare set of mission clothes for just such occasions. "Let's get changed and get out front. We don't want to keep our ride waiting."

"Right… right. I gotcha." Ron agreed, casting one final glance at his notes. "I'm just hoping the termites don't try sticking the furniture in the food processor again."

* * *

"Okay, why is it that every time we fly south of Florida, we wind up in some rusty old rattletrap of a bird?"

"Look on the bright side, Ron. It's not _so_ bad, is it?"

Ron simply lifted a suspecting eyebrow and glared across the cockpit at his girlfriend.

"I mean, compared to a lot of the alternatives…"

His glare only intensified.

"Alright! So it's a flying tribute to metal fatigue and it's probably held together with little more than duct tape and a strong sense of tradition. And _yes,_ it _does_ seem to pose something of a trend! But it's what Wade was able to scrounge up, so let's just be thankful for that. Besides, it's a ferociously good cause and they needed a stand-in pilot, so we can really feel good about doing this, right?"

"Whatever." Ron groused as he returned his attention to the sky in front of him. As it stood, he was sitting at the controls of a material transport flight for the charitable organization "Doctors Without Borders," hauling several tons of medical supplies toward a small cluster of impoverished islands that just happened to be a hop, skip and a jump from the island fortress of another doctor… one with a practice that wasn't quite so "healing-centric."

As for the bird of mercy that he was in charge of this day… Well, let's just say it was a darn good thing stuff of that era was built to last.

The aging C-47 was nearly as old as his grandparents, having flown its first mission on D-Day more than six decades prior: An irony that was not lost on him as he reflected back to their most recent mission in western France. He had been astounded, and maybe even just a little excited, when his pre-flight inspection had revealed the original mounting lugs for one of the "Rebecca" radio transceivers on the right side of the aircraft, just below the co-pilot's window. Turning over his shoulder, he stole a quick glance back through the open doorway toward the stacks of neatly packed medical supplies, and swallowed hard.

It was all so clear to him: Frighteningly so, in fact. Looking back through the fuselage, the crates of precious instruments and medicines vanished into the mists of time, and were quickly replaced by a cargo far more valuable. Through the eyes of his imagination he could see the twin rows of ashen-faced G.I.s stretching out behind him, anxiety etched across their every feature as they prepared to jump into angry, flak-filled skies, each man knowing the odds, and preparing for his fate in his own way.

For the briefest of moments, history was not confined to the pages of a textbook or the dusty display cases of some museum: It was there… alive… and in front of him. Their story of courage was his story as well: His to know… His to honor… His to cherish. He was the caretaker of far more than just a few rolls of gauze and some vials of penicillin: He was a caretaker of the past… A great and honored legacy flying with him in the dusty, rusty confines of this grand old lady of the skies.

A sudden burst of turbulence bounced him in his seat, jarring him awake with the subtly of a dropped piano. His head snapped back striking the bulkhead behind him and he instinctively lunged for the stick, a startled yelp of "flak!" escaping from his lips.

"Flak?" Kim asked concernedly from across the cramped cockpit. "What the heck are you yammering about?"

"Uh, nothing." Ron quickly covered, vigorously shaking his head to set his senses straight. "I was just… startled… is all."

"Exactly _how_ hard did you hit your head just then, anyway?"

"I'm fine! Really!" Ron insisted, not being totally convinced of that fact himself. "Now would you mind doing me a solid and adjusting that trim tab over there?"

"Which one?"

"Elevators. Two notches up, please and thank you."

"Got it. Elevator trim, up two. Roger."

"And could ya' snag me a compass heading while you're at it too? I'm gone be starting the descent pattern soon and I wanna make sure just where we are."

"Can do. Current bearing is one-six-seven degrees with wind from the northwest at twelve knots."

"Reporting the weather too now, are we?" Ron grinned.

"What can I say? I'm a giver." Kim grinned right back.

Their grins never faded as they gradually glided back toward terra firma below.

* * *

Standing on that oh-so familiar beach looking up at the imposing stone fortress above them, two teen heroes felt as though they were experiencing a homecoming of sorts.

And why not? After all, since their first introduction to its megalomaniac occupant during their sophomore year, they had paid so many visits to this restricted flyspeck of land that it nearly qualified as a second home to them. Ron had even suggested that they look into picking up some sort of villainous guest-rewards membership: An idea that was roundly shot down.

"Consistent as ever." Ron plaintively sighed as he looked up at the towering fortress of doom above him. "Same craggy cliffs… same 'darkness chic'… You'd think he's never even heard of keeping things fresh."

"I suppose it's a matter of personal style." Kim offered with a shrug before continuing.

"So how do we want to swing this?" she asked, taking a cursory look around; the latter act being only barely necessary, as by now the teenaged heroine felt as though she could navigate this particular stretch of beach blindfolded without so much as stepping on a single sand crab. "Scale the cliffs here in front, or sneak around back and come in through the saltwater intake pipes?"

"Or better yet, how about door number three?" was Ron's unexpected reply.

"Door number three?" Kim quizzically inquired. "Exactly which door is _that?"_

"Specifically… It's the _front_ door."

"Come again?"

Without any further explanation Ron brushed wordlessly past her, and much to her horror, strode straight up to the heavy steel door that stood recessed into the cliff face just a few yards away.

"Huh… You know, I guess I can dig the whole 'doom-and-gloom' vibe, but I gotta say the welcome mat just seems out of place to me." He gave the aforementioned item a firm kick to emphasize his point before pressing on with his intended task. His finger was swift this night, and before Kim could utter so much as a word of protest, he had mashed the large button on the doorframe stiffly into its bracket.

"Whoa! What in the bloody you-know-what do you think you're doing?" Kim hysterically hissed.

"Getting us inside. What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" He answered with an incredulous look, acting as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ron! Drakken's not just going to answer the door and let us waltz right…"

"This had better not be another bunch of Jehovah's Witnesses, because if it is, I've got a few ways of ringing _your_ bell!" an all-to-familiar voice growled over the intercom speaker.

"Actually, we're with the Occupation Health and Safety Department." Was Ron's jovial reply. "We're in the neighborhood conducting drop-in inspections of electro-magneto-projector ray whosey-whatzits."

"_You!"_ Drakken's snarl was almost visible through the speaker. "The _sidekick!_ Mister… daaahhh… gah, I always miss this… errrrrr… oh, it's not really important."

"Stoppable! It's _Ron Stoppable!_ Seriously, how hard can that be?"

"Whatever! I suppose this means your cheerleader friend is here too, right?"

"Right here, Drakken." Kim called out, although not as authoritatively as she ordinarily might. There was just something about the unanticipated directness of Ron's approach that had thrown her off her game. "So the two of you might as well give up and turn yourselves in."

"Ha! File _that_ demand away under the heading of 'not gonna happen!'" The blue-hued villain sneered. "As long as you're out there and I'm in here, that's one major item off my checklist for success."

"Okay, seriously dude. Exactly _how_ long have we been at this little game?" Ron asked, a touch of sarcasm coming across in his tone.

"Longer than I'd care to admit." Came the grudging reply.

"Right. And in that time, exactly how many times have your super-elaborate security systems actually kept us from getting all up in your personal space."

"None."

"Exactly! So you gotta figure that the same thing is gonna happen this time around the horn too. And since it's so expensive fixing torn-up air ducts…"

For several moments, silence reigned across the beach as a long, thoughtful pause came across the connection.

"You know, he's got a point Doc."

"Shhhhh! You know that and _I_ know that, Shego! But we don't need to let _him_ know that _we_ know!"

"Uh, we can hear you guys loud and clear." Ron grinned triumphantly.

"Gaaaahhhhh!" Drakken groaned in frustration. "Fine! You win! Come on in and we'll just skip right to all the witty banter and Kung Fu fundage.

"Fundage?"

"What? It's a word!"

"I'm pretty sure it's not."

"And I'm absolutely _certain_ that I don't care!" Drakken growled. "Stupid meddling teens with their sass and their hip-hop style," he continued to rant in a low, grumbling tone, "and their sense of entitlement and their smart phones with all those fancy apps for God only knows…"

"Uh, you have to let go of the button, Doctor D." Shego remarked in the background.

"Oh, really? Well son of a bit…" _Click!_

The heavy latch clanked loudly as it retracted back into its housing and a faint hiss of equalizing pressure could be heard as the door swung slightly ajar, bidding entrance to the two intrepid teens.

And not wanting to disappoint their reluctant host, they quickly shared a meaningful glance, shrugged, and stepped through the opening and into the shadowy interior beyond.

* * *

"Seriously, Shego. Why is it that every time I raise an evil finger, Kim Possible and the buffoon are right there to slap it down? Is she _physic_ or something?"

"Yeah, Doc. She's _physic: _Predicting all of your future movements." The villainous vixen drolled with a roll of her green eyes. "Or maybe it's because every one of your schemes starts out the _exact… same… way!"_

"Are… are you saying we're in a _rut?"_ the blue-hued megalomaniac whimpered defensively as he turned from the intercom to face his green-themed assistant and increasingly-significant other.

"No, I'm saying _you're_ in a rut." Shego pontificated, peering over the glossy pages of the fashion magazine she had been reading for the past hour. "Your plans always begin with building some oversized electro-projector… _whatever_ that thing is," she motioned over her shoulder, indicating the massive machine that dominated the far corner of room, "and lately you're not even _building_ them anymore. You're just buying kits online."

"Hey… hey now! I'll have you know those things come 'some assembly required.' And I might also add it's a rather liberal definition of 'some.'"

"And you even bought it online! With your _own_ credit card!" Shego continued, completely ignoring her employer's remarks.

"Aha! That may be true!" Drakken shot back, suddenly gleeful. "But I used an alias on the warranty registration card. Let's see Kimberly's techno-buddy track _that_ down!"

"Denny Grate?"

"Narrrrrrrgh! How did you know that?"

"You _always_ go with 'Denny Grate.'"

"Okay, fine! You've got me!" Drakken hissed, crossing his arms and sulking. "Forgive me if I like going with what works."

"With what _works?"_ Shego coughed, nearly dropping her reading material on the floor. "Have you been moonlighting on the side and not telling me? What was your last plan that actually _worked?"_

"Welllllllll…"

"Look, I'm not saying your ideas aren't sufficiently evil." The voluptuous villainess sighed. "I'm just saying that it wouldn't kill you to show a little originality every now and then. You know… Make the rest of us think you're actually putting some _effort_ into this."

"Meh. Maybe you're right." The doctor sighed, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.

"Besides," Shego added with a smirk, "I think the name 'Lou Gubrious' hangs much better on you."

"Ah! Well, I suppose that _does_ have a certain ring to it. Sort of rolls off the tongue with a hint of… of… dah…"

Drakken's eyes grew two sizes larger as he comprehended his erstwhile assistant's double meaning.

"Oh, you're _very_ funny." He huffed indignantly. "A regular Tracy Ullman."

"Can you believe I don't have my own HBO special yet?" she smirked, returning her attention to the periodical before her. However, her attention didn't linger there for long.

"That's funny. 'Cause personally, I see you more as a candidate for that _'What Not to Wear'_ show."

"Wonderful. The house _pests_ have arrived." Shego groaned, dropping the glam mag onto a nearby table and abandoning the overstuffed chair she had been enjoying. "Sooooo… welcome to our humble abode, Princess. Can I get you anything? Bottled water? Soda pop? _Strychnine?"_

"Actually, we brought a hostess gift for _you:"_ Kim remarked, stepping fully into the room. "A family-sized can of whoop-ass."

Shego simply placed her hands on her hips, cocked her head to one side and smirked.

"Oh really?" she crowed. "And tell me, just who exactly is this 'we' of which you speak?"

"Huh?" Kim grunted confusedly, a tinge of worried annoyance creeping into her mind. She quickly checked over each shoulder, and confirmed her adversary's observation: She was alone.

"RON!" she called out concernedly, and with a faint air of irritation.

It took a few moments, but her companion soon materialized from behind the open doorframe.

"KP, you've _got_ to check out blue boy's rec room!" he gushed enthusiastically. "The dude's got a ping-pong table… A _ping-pong_ table!"

Kim affixed him with a withering glare.

"Oh, right… mission mode. Gotcha." He quickly acquiesced, screwing on his self-described "game face" and taking up a protective position slightly behind and to Kim's right. Once a quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that her backup was indeed in position, the fiery redhead set her gaze and stared emphatically at the evil genius before her

"Whatever you're up to Drakken, it won't work." She said.

"That's exactly what I've been saying." Shego quipped, earning a drawn face and an annoyed grunt from her employer.

"Ohhhh, _this_ time I think it _will_ work." Drakken grinned malevolently at the teenaged duo.

"Really?" Kim queried with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm quite confident."

"Confident in what?"

"Duh! My latest scheme of course!"

"Which is _what,_ exactly?"

"Well, it's… uhhh… It's the most diabolically evil and ingenious scheme you've ever seen! That's what it is!" Drakken began to rave. "I mean, sure… I've come up with some doozies in the past, but this one… Whoa Nelly! _This_ one is going to unwind your minds and rethread your heads!"

"Translation: You have no idea what this thing does, do you?" Kim self-satisfactorily smirked, crossing her arms and nodding toward the towering technical monstrosity that sat menacingly in the corner.

"Not a clue," Drakken huffed, crossing his own arms grouchily before turning defiant once again, "but it's a giant ray gun with a satellite dish-looking thing on the front, so whatever it does must be pretty bad. I figure I'll just point it at some randomly-chosen major city, push the button, and we'll all see what happens."

"Uh huh. And what unlucky urban center has Mister Random picked out for eminent destruction today?" Kim asked, still convinced that this plot, like all other ideas conceived by Drakken's twisted mind, would fail in spectacular fashion.

"Detroit." The Blue-hued villain stated proudly.

"Dude, I think you may be too late." Ron offered from the rear.

"Sidekick's got a point, Doc." Shego agreed, casually sauntering into a position between her employer and her long-time teen nemesis. "You might want to choose a spot where laying waste to the place would be a little more… oh, I don't know… _noticeable."_

"_Errrrrgh!_ Fine! I'll pick some place else!" Drakken grimaced, raking an aggravated hand down the length of his face. "In the mean time, Shego, would you please kindly show our guests the door? To spite popular opinion, we _do_ have standards in this establishment, and the two of you don't meet the membership criteria."

"Oooh! That stings." Ron winced at the doctor's barb.

"Never mind the slight, Ron! I'll handle Shego!" Kim instructed, bracing herself for the coming attack. "You take care of Drakken's high-intensity-thingamajig!"

"Directional emitter array!" Drakken angrily shouted from the sidelines.

"Whatever." Kim shrugged.

With a mighty roar, Shego flared her hands and charged, unleashing a broad slash that Kim dodged with an easy back step. Another swipe sailed harmlessly over her head as the villainous vixen pressed the attack, forcing the former high school cheer captain to backpedal further. A third blow was deflected by a well-placed forearm from the redhead, who then counter-attacked with a strike to the green woman's opposite shoulder. Shego managed to successfully dodge the blow, but the move killed her forward momentum and the two adversaries stood toe-to-toe once again.

"Sooooooo, it's good to see you again Kimmie." Shego smiled with sickly-sweetness as the two combatants circled each other like alley cats in heat. "Last time we did this there wasn't much of an opportunity to talk."

"That's because your goons jumped me before we got the chance." Kim sneered, back flipping to avoid a particularly vicious right cross and grabbing hold of a piece of exposed pipe than hung suspended from the ceiling above. A quick twist of her hips and the metal gave way, depositing her back on the floor with an impromptu weapon for her trouble. "You know, I was actually disappointed with you over that." She continued, twirling the pipe in front of herself like a bo staff. "Letting the help do your work for you like that? I never though I'd see the day when you started getting lazy."

"It's called _'delegating'_ Pumpkin. You should try it some time." Shego bit back, attacking with a series of jabs that were easily deflected by Kim's twirling. "But on another note, your sidekick seems to have bounced back well from that case of lead poisoning that the boys gave him."

"Kim's gaze darkened suddenly and her eyes narrowed.

"Trust me, Shego. You do _not_ want to go there." She ominously growled.

"Ooooo-hooooh! Did I strike a nerve there, Princess?" Shego gleefully grinned. After all, pushing her teen-aged rival's buttons was, when it came to the overall job, one of her favorite fringe benefits.

"Let's just say that when somebody shoots my boyfriend four times in the chest… I tend to take it personally." Kim sneered through clenched teeth. Truth be told, although nearly two months had passed since the mission to Poland, she still found herself having difficulty coming to terms with what had transpired. The image of Ron going down amidst a hail of bullets while she hung bound and helpless was something that still haunted her. Even now, she would occasionally awake during the middle of the night in a cold sweat, the horiffic scene echoing through her mind, her own anguished sobs ringing in her ears.

She lashed out with the staff, executing a ferocious jab that Shego barely managed to side step. The green villainess retaliated with an overhead forearm chop: A supposedly irresistible force that quickly met an immovable object in the form of Kim's staff, held crosswise above her head in a perfect blocking position. The block didn't last long however, as Shego's other hand, flaring green with plasma, came crashing down, splintering the staff in two and sending the redhead stumbling backward.

"Yeah, that's the problem with taking things personally, Kimmie." Shego grinned malevolently as she pressed her advance. "It makes you lose your edge."

She lunged forward with a menacing left slash, only to be surprised when Kim deftly deflected the blow with one of the pipe fragments she still held.

And surprise quickly turned to breathless discomfort as Kim drove the other half hard into the master thief's gut, driving the air from her lungs and forcing her back on her heels.

"On the contrary," Kim snarled, "I'd say it actually helps you focus. Hey Ron! How's it going over there?"

"Makin' progress!" Ron called out, slinking along the far wall as he made his way toward the raised control platform set to one side of the room. Ducking in and out of the shadows, he moved with a sense of "casual purpose," right up until the point where his path was blocked by a tall figure in a blue trench coat.

"Annnnnnd we just hit a snag." He whined deflatedly.

"What? You think I haven't played this game before?" Drakken snarled, looking menacingly down on the tow-headed teen. "Every time you two pests show up, Kim Possible deals with Shego while you sneak around and destroy my scheme. Well not this time, sidekick! Fool me once, shame on you… But fool me twice, and… uh… ummmm…"

"Shame on you?"

"Oh! So you want to be all _judgmental_ now, do you?"

"No… dude. I'm just sayin' that…"

"You think I'm afraid of you and your cheerleader friend? Is _that_ what you think?" the blue megalomaniac sneered. "Well I'm _not_ afraid of you! Doctor Drakken is afraid of _nothing!"_

"Are you kidding me, Doc?" Shego called out from across the room as she back-pedaled under Kim's renewed assault. "You're afraid of _everything!"_

"Oh yeah? Name _one!"_

"Snakes, spiders, heights, germs, opening your eyes under water, small enclosed spaces, big open spaces, manual typewriters, improv comedians and your mother." She rattled off at a staccato pace.

"Okay! First of all, I said name _one!"_ the mad scientist angrily snarled. "Secondly, I am not afraid to open my eyes underwater! I'm just really, _really_ sensitive to chlorine!"

"Thirdly, pay attention to what you're doing, Doctor Distracted!" Shego shot back. "You just got out-flanked!"

"Say wha…?" Drakken gaped, his dark-rimmed eyes darting confusedly around. It didn't take him long to locate the subject of his sidekick's remark, the young blond having looped around him during the confusion and started up the platform stairs.

"Hey! Come back here, you!" he shouted irately. "I wasn't done gloating yet!" With a face contorted with barely contained rage, he moved to give chase to the insolent young boy, intent on tackling him from behind before he ever reached the top of the stairs…

But the only thing he himself wound up reaching was the floor directly in front of him.

Dazed by the sudden impact of his face with the cold tile, the evil technologist rolled over with a groan and tried to stand again, only to fail miserably, discovering during the process that his shoelaces had somehow become tied together.

"Huh? Ohhhhhhh, what the…?" he moaned in obvious discomfort.

"Hurk, surprise!" an ill-defined yet somehow familiar pink form squeaked, suddenly appearing through his blurry field of view.

"Errrgh! Miserable miscreant!" He growled, making a wobbly grab for the small rodent who easily eluded the scientist's grasp and scampered away to rejoin his master.

"No time for nap time, Doc! Get your blue butt up there and do something useful for once!" Shego shouted again, prompting the self-professed doctor to rise unsteadily to his feet and begin hopping up the stairs in a rather undignified manner.

"And another thing!" he shouted between hops. "What sane person _isn't_ afraid of spiders? Whoa! _Oooff!"_ The floor had come up to meet him once again.

Jumping from step to step in a manner vaguely reminiscent of a rabbit with cerebral palsy, the blue-hued villain soon reached the command platform, out of breath but still somewhat proud of the fact that he had only face-planted twice more during his ascent.

What little breath he still had however, quickly left him when he saw the golden-haired sidekick randomly manipulating the controls of his painstakingly designed and custom built machine.

"What in the name of holy hand grenades are you doing?" he screamed, losing his balance and falling flat once more.

Ron simply turned to the mad scientist and looked at him as though he'd just grown another head.

"I'm messing with the works. What does it look like I'm doing?" he said matter-of-factly.

"And you're ruining everything!" Drakken snapped.

"Well _duh,_ blue boy. That's kinda the _point!"_ Ron promptly shot back. "When in doubt, push a lot of buttons: That's the Ron Stoppable philosophy."

"Oh, you have a _philosophy_ now, too?" Kim shouted from across the room, ducking under a roundhouse kick from Shego and retaliating with a leg sweep of her own. "What's next? Your own _creed?"_

"A creed? No," Ron replied as he continued to mash every button he could find, "but I _do_ have a mantra."

"Really? And would it _kill_ you to keep your girlfriend in the loop on these things?"

"Hey! I'm sorry, alright! Next time I'll have Wade put out a memo or something!"

"Yes, neato!" Drakken grimaced, hauling himself to his knees. "And not to interrupt this _stimulating_ conversation at all, but DON'T PUSH THAT BUTTON, YOU FOOL!"

"What, you mean this big red button here?" Ron asked inquisitively.

"No, the yellow and black striped one next to it."

"This one _here?_"

"Above that, and a little to the left."

"Here?"

"_That's_ the one! DON'T PUSH THAT YOU FOOL!"

_Thank you for activating the facility self-destruct sequence! Total annihilation will occur in one minute!_

"D'ohhhhhh! You _pushed_ it!"

"Meh… It's what I do." Ron shrugged, turning his attention to the activities below.

"Hey KP! Not to be pushy or anything, but this might be a good time to am-scray!" he shouted, cupping his hands over his mouth as he called down to the pitched duel that was still unfolding across the lair's main floor.

"The idiot has a point." Shego conceded, abandoning her attack and stepping away.

"Oh, Shego… Running away, are we?" Kim chided, raising her fists in preparation for another round.

"She who fights and runs away, lives to… well you know the rest." The green-themed thief grinned as she leapt backwards, mounting the stairs in three solid bounds and grabbing her employer by the collar of his ever-present coat.

"Ow! Watch it, Shego!" Drakken forcefully whined. "You're getting me all wrinkled!"

"Save it for the dry cleaners, Doc!" Shego cut him off, throwing him over her shoulder like a sack of laundry and vaulting over the rail toward a nearby emergency exit. "Right now were taking a little vacation, and don't worry about canceling the paper while we're gone!"

Arriving on the platform just in time to see the dastardly duo make good on their escape, Kim turned to Ron, who had a decidedly sheepish look about him.

"I pushed." He admitted meekly.

"Yeah. No kidding." Kim sighed, noting to herself that while the bad guys getting away was something of a bummer, destroying the lair was a pretty positive outcome on its own. "So, shall we ace this place?"

"I thought you'd never ask." Ron admitted, stepping up to face his girlfriend and securing his arms around her shoulders. With practiced ease, Kim raised her grapple gun to the ceiling and fired, striking a perfect spot on an overhead skylight. An instant later, the pair was soaring into the rafters high above the floor, and three instants later they were on the roof, sprinting toward the edge, the calm cadence of the computer's synthetic voice ringing in their ears.

_Self-destruction will activate in ten…_

_Nine…_

_Eight…_

_Seven…_

_Six…_

_Five…_

_Four…_

_Would the owner of a white Pontiac, license number… Oh never mind!_

_ZERO!_

The stillness of the Caribbean night was shattered by the booming rapport of multiple explosions, each more powerful than the last. Roiling fireballs surged upward into the darkened sky, reflecting a palate of orange and yellow off the shimmering sea and back into the heavens above in a stunning display of destructive furry.

None of which was noticed by the two teens that surfaced coughing and sputtering from the ocean where they had landed.

"You okay, Ron?" Kim asked as she reached up and flipped her soaking wet hair away from her face.

"Yeah, just peachy. You?" Ron coughed loudly as Rufus climbed to high ground atop his master's head and flipped away the blond bangs that obscured his vision.

"Never better." She smiled semi-truthfully. A good adrenaline rush was something she always savored, as anyone who knew her was well aware, but being soaked to the bone in salt water while fully clothed was not something that ranked high on her list of favorite activities. "So are we gonna stay out here and tread water, or are we gonna hit the beach?"

"I vote beach." Ron answered, raising a hand above his head.

"_Hnnnk…_ Uh-huh. Beach!" came an enthusiastic squeak."

"Then the beach it is." She confirmed, starting to swim toward shore. "We'll contact Wade and arrange for a pick-up once were there."

"Sounds good to me." Ron agreed, following dutifully behind in his girlfriend's wake. "After all, what's a trip to the shore without a healthy dose of sand in your shorts?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

And once again… things are starting to flow.

After a sixteen-month delay between previous chapters, I have to say a four-week turn around is a refreshing change of pace. No idea why things just started falling into place with this story all of a sudden, but they did, so I suppose we should all simply be thankful for that. I just hope I didn't give you all whiplash with the sudden shift in momentum.

Oh, and before we go any further, I gotta give a very special set of congratulations to site member Reader101 for correctly deciphering the message in the last chapter. Not only did he figure out both the message decryption and the meaning it contained, but he did it within 24 hours of the chapter being posted. Major kudos dude! I'm sure there's CIA spooks out there right now spitting their drinks on their monitors and saying _"Daaaaaaaannnnng!"_

_C-47 Skytrain:_ Yet another legendary product of the Douglas Aircraft Company, the C-47 Skytrain was originally derived from the widely successful passenger airliner, the DC-3. (Douglas Commercial, Model # 3) Being effectively little more than a DC-3 stripped of its seats and modified with a cargo door and reinforced floor, the C-47 was easily mass produced with minimal retooling of production lines, and quickly became a mainstay of Allied logistics and supply during the Second World War. Multiple variants of this venerable bird saw service during the war, including the R4D Naval version, the C-47 Dakota flown by the British Royal Air Force, and a specialized paratroop version designated as the C-53 Skytrooper. To many of the crews that flew them however, they were known affectionately as "Gooney Birds."

Later, Skytrains would see service in the skies over Korea and Vietnam, adapting to the roles of electronic warfare in the form of the EC-47 "Electric Gooney" and close-support gunship as the AC-47 Spooky.

More than 10,000 Skytrains were built by three factories between 1942 and 1945, with a handful remaining in active civilian service even today: A fact which begs the question, _does a truly great design ever become obsolete?_

Well, I suppose that about wraps things up for another chapter. As for where our heroes will be facing next… who really knows. (Not me, that's for sure.) But you can bet dollars to donuts that wherever the winds of fate take our dynamic duo, adventure and intrigue are sure to follow.

Everyone take care now… And stay frosty!

_Nutzkie…_


	17. Unexpected Guests

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Seventeen ~**

It was late… Well beyond the hour when most suburban neighborhoods have nestled down into the silent folds of another night's slumber, when the stillness was broken by the guttural thrum of a diesel engine and the hiss of air brakes. Darkened sidewalks were flooded with light as an eighteen-wheeled behemoth slowly rolled to a stop in front of a split-level home and dropped its engine to a slow idle, the passenger side door opening only moments after the parking brake had been forcefully applied.

"Thanks for the lift, Mister Marley!" a lithe figure called out as she descended from the cab, bathed in the glow of a nearby street lamp.

"Don't mention it, Kim." a gruff and gravely voice responded from the truck's interior. "It was the least I could do after you helped me out with that blown transmission coming up over Dead Man's Pass."

"Oh please." The young woman waved dismissively from the sidewalk. "Anybody could have run a roadside rebuild of an eighteen speed manual transmission with dual torque converters using a roll of duct tape, two Slinkys and half of a macramé wall hanging. I'm just glad Ron had something we could use to make that gasket."

"Yeah, that be true." the driver chuckled, "I just can't believe that there's anyone out there still caryin' _Silly Putty_ around like that."

"Well given the circumstances, I'd say it doesn't seem quite so _crazy_ right now, does it?" Another figure asked rhetorically, emerging from the cab at a somewhat more cautious pace. "And besides… truly classic toys never go out of style."

"Well, I got y'all home, safe 'n' sound, so ah reckon I'll be a-rollin' on out now." The burly driver pondered, shifting slightly and repositioning his safety belt. "You both take care now, ya hear?"

"Loud and clear." Kim confirmed with a friendly wave. "And thanks again!"

The driver simply tipped his camouflage baseball cap in response as Ron slammed the door, and the diesel beast revved its engine, breaking the stillness of the night once again with the sound of whining turbo chargers and grinding gears.

"Well overall, I'd say _that_ was an interesting mission." Kim admitted, placing both hands on the small of her back and stretching out a rather nasty kink.

"Not to mention a long one." Ron added, lifting both arms over his head to stretch a similar knot between his shoulders. "Ya' know, I've actually lost track: Is it Tuesday or Wednesday?"

"It's Thursday."

"Well in that case, _somebody_ owes me a Wednesday… Either that or two Tuesdays."

"Take it out of petty cash." Kim quipped, nonchalantly tossing her pack over one shoulder. "Sooooooo, I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah, I'll give you a ring some time in the morning. You know… After I regain consciousness."

"Sounds good to me." Kim agreed, slowly sliding up to her boyfriend of more than a year and slipping her free hand around to tussle the hair on the back of his head. "So I guess this is goodnight, then." She rose up onto her toes and pulled his face down to hers, placing a slow, lingering kiss squarely on his lips. The gesture left him dazed and sporting a far-away look when she finally pulled away.

"You… do… have… a way… with… words." Ron stammered, battling his way through crossed eyes and a series of thoughts that seemed to be going both everywhere and nowhere at once. It was a display the likes of which Kim couldn't help but giggle at, well satisfied that she still had what it took to make her man swoon.

"Goodnight, sweetie." She purred, pausing to survey the results of her handiwork… grinning like a cat that just ate its owner's canary… before finally turning up the path to her front door, taking care to add an exaggerated sway to her hips as she did so. It was tender and sensual moments like this that made her feel like a true woman, and when they came along, she couldn't help but milk things… at least a little bit.

And of course the resounding thud of Ron walking dazedly into that lamppost only served to confirm that she had done herself proud this night.

It was with a contented sigh that she unlocked her front door and entered her home for several well-deserved hours of inspecting the insides of her own eyelids.

* * *

It was some time later, (exactly _how_ much time, he didn't know), when a bedraggled and bemused Ron Stoppable stumbled through his front door and into the foyer of a dark and empty home. As seemed to be the custom lately, he had the house to himself for the week, his parents having taken Hannah to visit his mother's brother and his wife in Dallas. Or was it his dad's sister and her husband in Des Moines? With an extended family as big as theirs, it was hard to tell. After a while, a guy simply tended to lose track of all those relatives: The eternal curse of Jewish families.

"Well, time to hit the hay." Ron yawned, loudly. "About fourteen hours of shut-eye sounds _really_ good 'bout now."

"_Hurk! Nnnngh, hungry!"_ a rather animated and apparently wide-awake Rufus indicated from Ron's shoulder. The tiny creature pointed toward the kitchen and rubbed his little pink belly with vigor.

"Oh, all right. Snackage allowed." Ron conceded. "There should be some aged brie in the fridge." He was always such a pushover when it came to his pet, and truth be told, he really didn't have the energy just then to argue the point with a hungry rodent.

"C'mon upstairs when you're done!" He called out as he turned and started into the living room. "And if there's still any leftover bacon from breakfast, you're welcome to that too!"

Rubbing his eyes and exhaling another yawn, Ron stumbled through the darkened living room to the foot of the stairs, navigating more from sheer memory than from any definite visual cues.

If he hadn't been so tired, or if the lights had been just a little brighter, he might have noticed the burly, pink jump-suited henchman standing in the corner by the sofa, cleverly disguised with a lampshade over his head…

Or the one tucked with insane snugness into the bathroom medicine cabinet, holding his toothbrush, which he grabbed, gave his teeth a once-over, and promptly handed back before slamming the door…

Or the one in his bed, waiting for him with open arms as he yawned a final time and serenely slipped under the covers.

"HEY! NOW JUST WAIT ONE COTTON PICKIN' MINUTE!" He suddenly shouted, bolting upright in bed and turning to face his unexpected bunkmate, the bright light of realization illuminating his face like a sunburst…

"I forgot to turn out the light."

"_Oh, allow us!"_ Three none-too-pleasant voices replied in unison.

And then, for him at least, the lights really did go out.

* * *

It wasn't that she was tweaked… Far from it, in fact. It was really more of a mild annoyance, when you got down to it.

And it wasn't like she begrudged him a little extra sleep on this particular morning. After all, they had _both_ been through the eighteen-hour whirlwind also known as their last mission. Even _she_ had slept in an hour beyond her normal time. And for someone with as much self-discipline as her, that was a rare form of self-indulgence indeed.

But three hours late…

Three hours without calling as promised…

And to not even be answering the phone when _she_ called _him?_

Well, maybe she was a _little_ tweaked.

Or at least she was by the time that she pulled the modified sports coupe into the driveway and shifted into park. Jet lag or no jet lag, she had an appointment for a physician-administered dose of Ronshine, and she would be darned if _anyone_ was going to reschedule on her.

Stalking her way up from the driveway to the doorstep provided just enough time to compose her self as it turned out, and as she rang the doorbell she promised herself that she wouldn't let her natural Kimness spoil what she hoped could still turn out to be a very pleasant morning. But when both her first and second rings netted no results, the fire in her eyes began rising once again.

"_Seriously, Ron."_ She grumbled to herself. _"Are you TRYING to get me cheesed?"_ Deciding to forgo the doorbell, she channeled her frustration and pounded her bare fist upon the door…

And her weird-ar immediately went into overdrive when it creaked open under the force.

Dropping into a battle crouch, she gently pushed the door open further and crept inside. First up was the foyer, which she quickly confirmed was empty. A similar determination was soon made regarding the remainder of the first floor, and so she made her way through the living room and toward the stairs.

All seemed deserted and in order, as far as she could tell, except for the lampshade that lay curiously on one of the sofa cushions. The stairs creaked slightly under each and every step she took, protesting her movements in a comforting way that she found nearly as familiar as her own stairs at home. She checked the upstairs hallway… and found nothing. Ditto for the master bedroom, the hall bath, and Hannah's room.

And that just left one room to still be checked.

She could feel her pulse quickening and senses tingling as she mounted the second set of stairs: The ones leading to Ron's attic bedroom. There was a palpable sense of conflict as an internal war was now raging within her: One side desperately wanting to know what secrets that room held… the other dreading what those secrets might be.

But still she pressed on, mounting one step after another until her hand lay pressed against the smooth finish of the door. There was a momentary pause in her unrelenting advance… a moment to steel herself against the unknown… to take a deep, cleansing breath of air… and then she struck.

With the speed and precision of a striking cobra, Kim burst through the door, rolled to the center of the room and sprung up into a combat stance. She was ready for anything… ready to take on all comers… ready to vent all of her fears and frustrations on any hapless intruder who might harbor ill will toward her boyfriend…

If only an empty room could fight back.

As it was, the space before her held far more questions than answers. Clearly, the signs of a struggle were everywhere. The chaotic and disheveled room was in a total state of disaster, even by Ron's ordinarily messy standards. The comforter from the bed was wadded up in the center of the room, the lava lamp had been knocked from its perch on the desk, and the mirror above his dresser sported a large crack through its center. But throughout it all, evidence of Ron's current whereabouts was conspicuously lacking.

"_Well, at least there's no blood."_ She inwardly sighed, drawing very little comfort from the observation. _"That means he can't be hurt too bad."_ Without even thinking of it, her hand reflexively moved to her wrist… seeking the one source of information and comfort that she knew would pull her through this sitch.

"We've got major trouble brewing here, Wade!" She said before the young guru of all things tech even had a chance to utter a greeting. "Somebody grabbed Ron during the night and we need to figure out who… and _why!"_

Wade, who until that point had still been half-asleep himself, was instantaneously spurred to full-alertness by the revelation.

"On it! We'll start with the standard battery of scans and work our way out from there." He quickly said, powering up the various components of his system and starting the necessary programs running. "While everything's initializing, tell me what you know so far."

"There's really not that much to tell." She began to explain, making great effort to quell the nervousness that was even now beginning to creep into her voice. "We got back in late last night and went our separate ways. He was supposed to call this morning, and when he didn't I went looking and found all this."

"Define 'all this.'"

"Empty house… front door ajar… his room trashed…"

"Any signs of physical trauma?"

"Not that I can see, no."

"Well we'll count that as good news for now." Wade observed as he furiously typed what Kim had just told him. "As for the less-than-good news, the scans aren't turning up anything useful."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?" Kim prodded hopefully.

"Nada." Wade confirmed. "No trace evidence… no fibers… no fingerprints… Whoever these guys were, they were real pros about it."

"Great. So where does that leave us?"

"Maybe if you went downstairs? The sensors get more accurate the closer you are to a subject. We might find something that it missed the first time around."

Kim was quick to do as instructed, pausing on the second floor just long enough for a full scan before descending to the ground level of the Stoppable residence.

"Okay, I'm down." Kim spoke into the Kimmunicator. "What now?"

"Try moving to the center of the house." Wade offered. "We'll do an overall sweep from there, then we can start scanning each room in more detail."

"Right. I'm moving to the kitchen. That's about as close to center as we're gonna get."

Stepping into the kitchen, she leaned against the counter next to the refrigerator and raised the Kimmunicator to eye level.

"Okay, Wade. I'm in position." She informed. "Start the scan whenever you're…"

The sentence died in her throat as a sudden and intense rattling arose from the counter behind her, immediately pulling her head around and drawing her focus in it's direction.

"_Yeah,_ I really don't need a computer to pick _that_ up." Wade admitted with a raised eyebrow.

Turning to face the mysterious interruption, her eyes quickly focused on the counter-top breadbox, whose roll-up door was rattling with such force that she feared it might soon be torn from its hinges.

"So what do you suppose is in there?" Wade warily asked.

"Only one way to find out." Kim shrugged, readying herself for anything. She positioned herself slightly to one side, just in case the mystery occupant was poised to jump out at her, and grasped the latch.

"Careful, Kim! We don't know what we're dealing with!" Wade warned her.

"Duly noted." Kim said, acknowledging the warning. "Now watch my back. I'm going in."

With a gentle tug she lifted the door just a crack and peered into the darkness to see what small hurricane could be causing such a racket.

And it was that very whirling, pink hurricane that came bursting onto the counter and skidded to a stop, crouched and ready to pounce on those responsible for banishing him to the dark realm of stale rye and sourdough crackers.

"Rufus!" Kim and Wade both exclaimed in unison, neither one thinking to call a "jinx."

The tiny mole rat's head twisted left and right as he scanned his surroundings, his finely tuned rodent senses searching for any sign of his attackers, or his master. He could only hang his head and whimper softly when he found neither, his whiskers drooping as he slouched back onto his haunches in despair.

"Awwwww, don't worry little guy. We'll find Ron." Kim reassured the tiny creature, and perhaps in some small measure, herself as well. "Now tell us, did you see who did this?"

Instantly, the starch went back into Rufus's whiskers and he nodded is head enthusiastically.

"Can you describe them?"

Scampering quickly to the center of the countertop, Rufus rose up onto his hind legs, threw out his chest, and began strutting about the tiled surface in a body builder's pose.

"I think that's the universal sign for 'henchman.'" Wade observed.

"Agreed." Kim concurred with her friend's statement. "What else did you see, Rufus?"

The mole rat dropped his over-sized impersonation and began pointing at himself.

"Yes, that's right Rufus. We're asking you what you saw." Kim confirmed.

"_Nuh-uh."_ Rufus emphatically shook is head as he continued pointing at his own chest, even more forcefully than before.

"No Rufus. We need to know what happened. Not _who_ saw what happened!"

Rufus warbled in disgust and slapped a frustrated paw over his face. He may have loved his human friends dearly… nearly as much as his master in fact… but there were times when they could just be so clueless. And such times called for a drastic change in tactics.

Leaping down from the counter, Rufus dashed out of the Kitchen, through the foyer and out the front door, not even bothering to check and see if his two human companions were following him.

"Whoa! So what's up with him?" Wade asked perplexedly.

"Dunno." Kim shrugged. "But let's follow him and find out."

By the time she made her way to the front yard, Rufus was perched atop the hood of her car, excitedly jumping about and pointing at the brightly colored surface.

"So he's saying the perps… were… driving… a Sloth… like yours?" Wade pondered, dismissing the idea even as it came to him.

"No, there's something else he's trying to tell us." Kim postulated, paying careful attention to Rufus's every action. She knew enough about the little guy's communication style to understand that his antics were like a hula dance: Each and every movement had a specific meaning behind it. Nothing about his motions was random. Nothing was left to chance.

For several seconds longer, she carefully observed the mole rat's gyrations… the wheels of her mind slowly turning… bits and pieces falling into place as dots were methodically connected.

"I… I think I've got it!" She finally exclaimed, turning her attention to the Kimmunicator once more. "I think he's saying that the henchmen were wearing pink!"

Rufus immediately stopped his dance and began nodding his head in the affirmative. Finally! He had gotten the message through!

"So we've got Ron being grabbed during the night by a group of Henchmen in pink." Wade quickly summarized with a knowing smirk. "Does that description remind us of anybody in particular?"

"Yeah, I can think of _one_ body that springs to mind." Kim snarled through clenched teeth, the ire within her heart rising hard and fast. "Put in a call to Global Justice… Route it through to Betty Director _personally!_ We need to have a little heart-to-heart chat with her brother!"

* * *

As he slowly came to, the inside of his head was exploding with fireworks. Not that he really minded the show, as his last though had turned out the lights when it left.

Wincing, he dared to open his eyes just a slit, and quickly regretted the decision. The searing brightness that greeted him was simply too powerful to be taken all at once.

"_Well now, I see we're finally awake."_

He didn't even need to open his eyes again to recognize the owner of that voice.

"It's not quite the sort of sleep I was hoping for, Gee," he remarked, squinting hard as his eyes slowly adjusted to an unsettlingly familiar environment, "but I suppose it'll do."

"I trust that you're comfortable?"

"Well, let's see now…" Ron drawled sarcastically, casting a disdainful glance at the muscle-bound man with an eye patch and an unkempt head of hair. "I've got the flippin' Fourth of July going off behind my eyeballs, I'm completely restrained, and I'm getting ready to return the rental on that super-sized Slurpster I had on the way home last night. Oh, and it feels like I've got a five-pound cinder block sitting on my head as well."

"Oh, sorry. That's mine." One of the henchmen piped up, quickly scurrying over to grab the concrete slab from its perch. "Forgot where I put that. Thanks for watching it for me."

"_Yeeeeeeeahh…_ Don't mention it." Ron groaned, suspiciously watching the man's retreating form before turning back to the super villain in his midst.

"Couldn't tell me about the brick, huh?"

"I thought you already knew."

"_Euuugh,_ never mind." Ron plaintively groaned, pausing briefly to regain his train of thought. "Uh, so where were we again?"

"Being comfortable."

"Yeah, right… right." Ron nodded thoughtfully. "Although if I were you, I'd be a lot more concerned about my own comfort levels right now."

"Really? Is that so?" The over-sized evil mastermind regarded his young captive with a condescending glare, stroking his short beard with his bionic hand. "And pray tell, why exactly would you be worried about that?"

"Because, well… you remember my girlfriend, Kim Possible… right?"

"Yes, I'm familiar." Gemini grimaced, recalling the ill-fated encounter with his sister and the world-saving red head.

"Well if I know her at all, which I _do,_ I'd say it won't be long before she figures out what happened to me." Ron explained with all the casual candor of someone describing a day at the office. "And once she figures _that_ out, she's gonna be pounding on your front door here, looking to talk to you. And then _you_ are going to wind up having a very bad day, my friend."

The supreme leader of the World Wide Evil Empire was un-swayed by the threat, emitting a rude sound from deep within his throat.

"Really? Is that so?" he scoffed.

"Totally, dude." Ron confirmed. "And you _really_ don't want to be on the bad side of a tweaked Kim Possible. Trust me. Been there… done that… got the deep bone bruises to show for it." He said with a shudder, recalling the moodulator incident and all of the mayhem that ensued.

"You seem to have a great deal of faith in your friend." Gemini continued to scoff. "Who do you think she is? _God?"_

"God? No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous." Ron replied with a roll of his eyes. "God has to rest one day out of every seven. KP's in much better shape than that."

Gemini regarded him with a sideways glance, silently contemplating his captive.

"You're pretty funny, aren't you?" he said drolly.

"Meh, I try." Ron shrugged, or at least as well as a guy could shrug with all of his limbs restrained. _"Soooooooo,_ I guess this is the part where you launch into the whole _'explain your ingenious plan'_ thing?" he finally asked.

"Well, if you insist." Gemini replied almost giddily. Now _this_ was the part of villainy that really got his juices flowing. "Although if you must know, there really isn't a whole lot to explain."

"Really?"

"Yes, indeed! You see, all of those logistics and moving parts can be a real pain to keep track of. So I decided to skip all the complex and heavy stuff and go the simple route this time." He admitted, gesturing grandly about the room. "Direct and efficient with very little to go wrong. It's actually quite ingenious, when you really stop to think about it."

"Not to toot your own horn or anything."

"Of course not. I'm far too humble and refined a person for such gauche behavior."

"_Yeeeeeeeahhhhh."_

"Now where was I?"

"Simple plan."

"Right, thank you! So anyway, it has come to our attention that you and your friend have been involved with tracking down something of value. A _'source of unbelievable power,'_ I believe it is?"

"Ummmmmm… _maybe."_ Ron nervously stammered.

"And you have made progress in your investigations, no?"

"Why would you think that?"

"You're _Team Possible…_ You _always_ make progress."

"_Stupid, lousy street cred…"_ Ron bitterly mumbled.

"But fortunately, your role in all of this is very simple indeed." Gemini continued. "You see, we just need you to tell us everything you currently know about this hunt. You do that, and you'll be back sleeping in your own bed before you know it. Refuse, and your continued stay with us will become increasingly uncomfortable."

"Increasingly uncom… Oh for the love of…" Ron bemoaned. "I'm strapped down to the world's most menacing-looking Barcalounger, under so many heat lamps that I feel like a burrito combo meal, and I'm about twenty minutes from wetting myself! Exactly what are you gonna do to make me _more_ uncomfortable.

At that moment, the one-eyed criminal mastermind spun around and faced him with a predatory grin that made his blood run cold. He suddenly found himself empathizing with how Rufus must have felt when being eyed by his cousin Shaun's pet iguana.

And that thought, in turn, put his mind to wondering just what had become of his little buddy. Subconsciously, he dug his fingers into the armrests as he contemplated what he might do if this egotistical jerk had hurt his pet.

"Let me put it this way." Gemini sneered as he stepped up to loom over the cowering teen, his broad-shouldered form nearly eclipsing the overhead bank of lights. "In one of our methods, for every minute you don't tell us anything, I cut off a finger."

"Mine or yours?"

_"Yours!"_

"That's what I was afraid of."

"Well! Then in that case, I'll give you a few moments alone to ponder your current circumstances." He grinned predatorily, turning away with a dramatic flourish. "In the meantime, don't go anywhere!"

"Oh, I'll be here." Ron murmured worriedly under his breath. "Hoping that Kim figures all of this out quickly."

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well… I'm not sure how much there really is to say here. Compared to most of my other postings with their heavy-handed helpings of military jargon and high-tech toys, this offering was pretty light on the acronym alphabet soup, as it were. Who knows? Maybe I'm slipping.

But anyhooo, I'd like to apologize for another long delay between chapters in this story, And at the same time, I'd also like to thank you all for your patience in waiting around all this time. I guess life's been sort of crazy for me these last few months, and to make things worse, the ideas weren't quite flowing in the way I normally like them to.

However, I suspect that our next installment will follow somewhat more quickly now. With these two chapters sharing a common narrative, most of the basic ideas and themes are already established. It's only the dialogue that still needs to be determined.

Also, I should probably apologize as well for this chapter being as short as it is. Ordinarily I try to make my chapters somewhat longer, (at least 18 pages in Microsoft Word), but with the way this chapter played itself out, this seemed like the most logical point for a break.

So with that being said, I'll leave the rest up to you fine folks at home. You all know the drill by now: Read, review, reply, etcetera, etcetera… Nothing to it but to do it!

So until our next chapter my friends, I shall bid you adieu!

Stay frosty, everyone!

_Nutzkie…_


	18. Probing the Depths

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Eighteen ~**

"So that's _all_ that Doctor Director was able to give us then?"

"'Fraid so, Kim. Apparently her brother has been keeping something of a low profile lately. All she had for us were some recent financial transactions on a lair improvement loan he got through the First Bank of Evil."

"I swear, it seems like _everybody_ is getting into real estate these days." Kim irritably grumbled under her breath as she piloted the sloth through clear skies 30,000 feet above the North Atlantic. "Wait… There's a _Bank of Evil?"_

"There is now." Wade confirmed. "When the fallout from the financial crisis hit, they reorganized under a new corporate identity."

"So who were they before?"

"Lehman Brothers."

"_That_ figures."

"So anyway, the paper trail puts the new WWEE Headquarters somewhere in central Europe. But with national banking confidentiality laws, the trail goes cold from there."

"Any chance they're actually _in_ Switzerland?"

"Possibly, but no more likely than any of the other countries in the region."

"Great. So Ron's a needle in a Euro-Zone haystack."

"Not necessarily." Wade retorted with a grin. "Now that we have a general area to work with, I can focus the satellite search for the signal from Ron's tracking chip. The more focused the search area, the better the results after all."

"But wouldn't Gemini have disabled Ron's chip?" Kim incredulously asked. "I mean… that's what he did last time."

"Yeah, he would… if he knew about it." Wade replied. "But remember, last time he was just trying to short out the sensors that G.J. sewed into Ron's _clothes._ Of course the EMF he generated wound up frying _my_ chip too, but that was just collateral damage that he probably wasn't aware of. All else considered, I'd bet dollars to donuts that _this_ time around, Ron's chip is in perfect working order."

"And if the chip is still transmitting…" Kim hypothesized, the warming light of hope flooding into her voice and demeanor.

"…Then I'll be able to get one _very_ precise fix on his location." Wade completed with a triumphant smile that lit up his face. "Which is handy, because it's also exactly what I just did."

"So Ron is…?"

"…Along the Austrian border about fifty miles southwest of Innsbruk, near the town of Nauders."

"Then _that's_ where we're headed!" Kim resolutely stated. "Patch the vitals through to the car's nav system and hold on!"

"Okay, but be careful when you get there." Wade reluctantly warned his team leader. "Gemini chose that spot for a reason. Nauders sits almost directly atop the spot where the Swiss, Austrian and Italian borders all meet. It's a jurisdictional nightmare down there."

"And since _when_ has something like that ever stopped me?"

"Okay, admittedly _never."_ Wade acquiesced with a shrug and a nervous glance. "But I'm just sayin'… It's something to be aware of."

"Duly noted." Kim agreed with a sigh. "Oh, and in case I haven't mentioned it lately, you continue to totally rock!"

"Actually, you mentioned it just last week, but it's still nice to hear." Wade smiled in response. "I'm uploading the navigation data right now, and I'll beep you if anything else comes up."

"Good deal, Wade. And thanks!" Kim smiled warmly before closing the connection and settling in for the remainder of the flight. At her current speed it would still be more than an hour before she crossed over the Irish Coast: Plenty of time to contemplate the mission ahead, plan exactly how she would greet Ron once she found him, and plot exactly what she would do to the one-eyed megalomaniac when she found _him._

* * *

"So, I trust we are enjoying our stay so far?" that very same megalomaniac asked with a haughty smirk as he re-entered the main control room of the lair.

"Oh yeah. _Wheeeee!"_ Ron groaned with a decided lack of enthusiasm, his eyes staring blankly at the empty space above him. "It's been a real blast laying here counting the tiny holes in the acoustic ceiling tiles. Of course now that you've interrupted me, I've lost track and gotta start over."

"Yes, neato." Gemini panned derisively before pressing on. "So anyway, have you given any more thought to my proposal?"

"Five… six… seven… eight…"

"MISTER STOPPABLE!"

"_Gyah-hahh!_ Okay! Okay! Yeah, I've been giving it due consideration and whatever!"

"And?"

"…And I don't know what I can tell you!" Ron huffed. "I mean, first off, I'm not exactly what you'd call the brightest bulb in the marquee, if you know what I mean."

"You don't say."

"_Secondly,"_ he glared at the dig, "people tend not to tell me much. Kim and Wade are the real brains of the team. I mostly just function in a support slash distraction role. I'm telling you, higher-level operations and strategy really aren't my forte."

"I see." Gemini regarded his captive, leaning back and stroking his goatee thoughtfully. "Of course you'll forgive me if I don't entirely take your word for things in this instance."

"Are you kidding? I'd be insulted if you did."

"And I appreciate your understanding." Gemini genuinely grinned. "Just as I hope you'll understand some of the methods we'll be using to interrogate you."

Suddenly, Ron's cordial demeanor crashed into the pit of his stomach, and he found himself being a lot less understanding.

"The equipment you requested is ready for prisoner interface, sir." One of the anonymous henchmen informed his leader, stepping up to the towering super villain's side. We can start the information process at any time."

"Thank you, Agent Theta." Gemini smiled. "And excellent job getting it all ready so quickly."

"Thank-you sir." The agent saluted before turning on his heel and returning to his post in the shadows. Gemini watched his retreat and turned toward his prisoner just in time to catch a rather questioning glance.

"I'm trying to praise them more." He explained, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially. "My management consultants say it boosts productivity."

"Hotcha."

"So, you honestly don't believe that you know anything? Is that right?" the man otherwise known as Sheldon Director conversationally asked.

"Nope. I'm pretty much just a mushroom when it comes to that sort of stuff." Ron sighed. "People just keep me in the dark and feed me crap."

"Well, we shall see about that." Gemini cryptically admitted. "You see, we have at our disposals certain methods that can extract information, even if you yourself are unaware that you possess it."

"Wha… what sorts of _methods?"_ Ron nervously stammered, not at all liking the sound of what the criminal mastermind had just proposed. "Are we talking… like… thumbscrews?"

"Why Mister Stoppable, you wound me." Gemini said with a false grimace. "This is the twenty-first century. We've moved far beyond such barbaric techniques."

"So then, what? You're gonna shoot me up with that _sorta-pentagon_ stuff?"

"That's _sodium pentathol._ And no, that's not on the menu either: Rather unreliable, when you really analyze it."

"Electro-shock?"

"Too crude."

"Sleep-deprivation?"

"Too time-consuming."

"Brainwashing?"

"Also unreliable."

"Stretching on the rack?"

"NO! _Ewwww,_ what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Errrr… Maybe you should just _tell_ me, then."

"Yes, I'm gathering that." Gemini groaned in annoyance, squinting as he gently massaged the bridge of his nose. Although he was loath to admit it, he could feel the first strains of a stress headache building behind his sinuses.

"…_And it's not even noon yet."_ He sighed inwardly. "So anyway, what we have at our disposal is a highly advanced piece of machinery that, when properly connected, will be able to scan all the contents of your brain. All of your secrets will be an open book for us to read. Even the ones that you've managed to keep secret from yourself!"

"So basically, it's a _brain tap_ machine?" Ron inquired suspiciously.

"That's one way of putting it, yes."

"Dude! That's _Drakken's_ invention!" Ron blurted out accusatorially. "We were totally there when he first came up with it! It's like, _totally illegal_ for you to be using that without his permission!"

"Oh, for the love of…" the oversized villain bemoaned pleadingly toward the ceiling. "I'm an international fugitive with multiple attempts at global domination on my record… I abduct you from your own bed… threaten you with great bodily harm… and it's the prospect of _patent infringement_ that gets you bent?"

"Well what else can I say?" Ron shot back, unfazed by the incredulous display. "Intellectual property rights are the cornerstone of a free-market economy!"

"_Ugh!_ Moving on!" Gemini huffed. There was no way to measure just _how_ ready he was for the next phase of his plan to begin. "Agent Omega! Bring the syringe over here!"

"Syringe?" Ron inquired, his nervousness growing by the second. "I thought you said you _weren't_ using Soda Pentium!"

"That's sodium… oh never mind! And it's not what we're using here! This is simply a powerful medical sedative to knock you out. You see… we need you unconscious for the machine to work."

"But… but… I don't like needles!" Ron sweated as he caught a glimpse of the rather large and ominous-looking instrument, currently being held by the jump suited man with the symbol of an upside-down horseshoe emblazoned across his chest.

If it were possible, the evil gleam in Gemini's eye grew even more sinister at the young blonde's admission.

"So then you'll talk?" he asked expectantly.

"No, I'll faint." Ron corrected, a moment before his eyes rolled back and his head drooped to one side, completely unresponsive.

"All right… Just so we're clear," Agent Omega asked, looking skeptically toward his boss, _"he_ was your sister's top secret project?"

"I know. I don't get it either." Gemini shrugged with a grimace.

"So do we still want to stick him? Or is this one of those _'want not, waste not'_ sort of things?"

"Just… just go put it away." The supreme leader of WWEE sighed in resignation. "But just the same, be sure to keep that thing close at hand…

"_I may need it for myself before this is all over."_

* * *

Nestled amongst the folds of the Alps, the town of Nauders lays at the northern end of a long glacial valley formed during the height of the last ice age. Immediately to its west, just a short hop across a steep ridge and at the bottom of a thousand-foot deep river valley, three of Europe's most significant political boundaries… the borders of Italy, Austria and Switzerland… all come together in a three-way geo-political train wreck.

Being by all appearances the very definition of "quaint," the pitched roofs and whitewashed walls of this picturesque hamlet actually hide a checkered past. For while its stunning Alpine scenery and mountain winters have long drawn artists and skiers to its storied slopes, it's close proximity to the confluence of Central Europe's three biggest political and economic powerhouses has often drawn a far less desirable element. During medieval times and into the renaissance, its strategic placement along major trade routes made it a haven for smugglers, loan sharks, confidence men, and criminals of all stripes. And in more recent times, the community was a chokepoint for the flow of ex-Nazi officers fleeing the collapse of the Third Reich, seeking sanctuary within this jurisdictional no-man's land from justice at the hands of their allied conquerors.

Of course none of this mattered to the fuming fiery-eyed redhead, whose single-minded focus on the mission at hand was by now approaching obsessive levels. Swinging in from the south she had followed the border, using the steep sides of the valley to avoid detection. An exposed glacial outcrop had offered a convenient landing place away from prying eyes, and within an hour of touching down, teen heroine extraordinaire Kim Possible was well into yet another lair infiltration.

"What's our status, Wade?" she asked her high-tech eyes and ears through the link of the Kimmunicator.

"According to these blueprints, the facility is arranged into three sections." Wade explained. "The one where you are and one immediately to the north both appear to mainly support structures: Things like ventilation and life support, power generation, maintenance and storage… stuff like that."

"And behind door number three?" Kim prodded expectantly.

"Is the main operations center, from the looks of it." Wade answered between slurps of soda. "It's centered between the other two areas, but about twenty feet below your current position. I'm scanning for suitable access points now."

"Good to know." Kim agreed, stealing a quick glance about as she turned down another anonymous corridor. "So how do we stand with the security systems?"

"Something of a mixed bag on that front." Wade shrugged. "They've got a really weird codec built into their video software protocols."

"And when translated from Geek-Speak to English…"

"It means I wasn't able to loop the video feed to cover your movements."

"Wait! You mean to say I'm on Candid Camera _right now?"_

"Not at all!" Wade shot back, appearing slightly insulted by the idea that he'd leave his team leader hung out to dry in such a way. "There's more than one way to cover a cat's tracks, after all. I simply prompted the Flash program to execute an illegal command line, forcing a shutdown of the primary driver software that runs the system. All the cameras in your sector have been off line for the last ten minutes now."

"Whew! Good to know." Kim exhaled in relief. The idea of a small army of henchmen watching her every move without her knowledge was something that sent cold chills up her spine. But still… There was something about what her tech guru had just said that didn't sit well with her.

"Hey Wade?" she hesitantly asked. "If all the cameras are out, won't there be a bunch of people coming up here pretty soon to find out why? And when they do, won't they wind up finding _me?"_

"_Ordinarily,_ yes." Wade replied with a smug grin, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers behind his head. "But I'm no ordinary hacker, and these guys are going to be checking in on a not-so-ordinary disturbance in the next few minutes."

"Oh-kaaaaaay… Now you've got me _really_ concerned."

"Let's just say that in about three minutes, you're going to be making a very noticeable appearance in the northern access hall of Area Two, about as far as you can get from where you are right now."

The cryptic answer gave Kim pause, and she briefly stopped her advance to cast a wary eye at the small device strapped to her wrist. She looked suspicious, yet curious: as if trying to decide whether the information she had just been given indicated a windfall, or an imminent catastrophe.

"The holo-Kim?" she finally ventured after several seconds of contemplation.

"The holo-Kim." Wade confirmed with a smile and a nod.

"Good thinking." Kim concurred with her webmaster's choice of tactics. "Although I still think it's kind of creepy that you've kept that thing all this time."

"It's a useful resource for certain circumstances." Wade casually defended himself. "And besides: 'Creepiness' is a subjective value."

"Whatever. Just let me know when the coast is clear to move down, alright?"

"Can do."

"Spankin'! Kim out."

She closed the connection, plunging the tiny screen into darkness once more, and leaving herself alone in an expansive subterranean labyrinth with a small army of angry henchmen, a villainous one-eyed psychopath with a robotic hand, and a festering sense of resentment toward anyone with the monumental audacity to target her boyfriend…

In other words… just another day at the office a teen hero on the go.

* * *

"Agent Lambda! Status Report!" Gemini barked as he cast a watchful glance over his young test subject, who was currently lying unaware and unmoving in the restraint lounge, wearing a bulky helmet-like device that sprouted a veritable bird's nest of wires.

"It's something of a mixed bag, sir." The recently promoted agent nervously reported. "The good news is that we've successfully tapped into the neural feed from his subconscious mind."

"And the bad news?" Gemini inquired with an ominously raised eyebrow.

"The bad news is that we can't make heads or tails of what we're getting." Lambda answered, focusing intently on the computer terminal before him, hoping against all odds that looking self-motivated at this particular moment might keep him out of the "hot seat." "This guy's entire brain is just one big disorganized mess: Data stored in random locations… Dead-end directories… Incomplete files and links that go nowhere… I haven't seen anything this bad since that time we tried switching the lair's servers to _Vista."_

"Hmmmm… _That_ bad, huh?" Gemini grunted with concern, leaning in to observe the details of his underling's work.

"Even worse." Agent Lambda sighed. "Check out this directory over here. It's filled to capacity with nothing but crackpot conspiracy theories. I swear… it's like this guy is channeling for Oliver Stone… or maybe Dale Gribble."

"If it were anyone else, I'd be surprised." The muscle-bound megalomaniac groaned, gently massaging the bridge of his nose in a futile effort to stave off the still-building headache. "Call me if you find out who really killed JFK."

"You can take your pick." Lambda replied. "According to this, it was either the Russians, the Mafia, or incensed Marilyn Monroe fans."

Gemini ignored Lambda's last remark and moved to another area of the room. Stress and frustration were beginning to accumulate in his sinuses, and he was quickly coming to realize that abducting Kim Possible's sidekick wasn't the cakewalk it seemed to be. Twice now, he had gone down this road, and twice he had grown to regret it. Mentally, he made a note to himself that the next time he considered making such a move, he would instead do something less painful… like slam a waffle iron shut on his tongue.

And it was in searching for a distraction from this current migraine-inducing mess that his eye fall across two agents of the security department, lounging casually at their stations, sipping coffee and generally appearing far more relaxed than any agent under his omnipresent command should ever be.

Clearly he needed to rectify this lapse in fearfulness immediately. After all… once a villain's minions start believing that their leader has gone soft, they stop listening to him, and suddenly life becomes nothing but work… work… work!

"So, you catch the big game on Saturday?" Gemini overheard one of the agents ask his companion.

"No, I totally missed it!" the other agent growled in irritation. "The stupid TV in our section of the barracks has been on the fritz all week, and it's really starting to get on my nerves."

Looking down at the console in front of him and balling his fists in frustration, he continued with his rant, completely missing the look of abject terror slowly washing over his companion's face.

"I swear… the conditions we're forced to put up with here are simply inhumane! That's what they are!" he prattled on. "Any other evil organization would at least have an electronics guy on hand who could fix a simple forty-six inch plasma set, but _oh no! _We're running this show on a _budget!_ I mean, you'd think _Cheapo-the-Greek_ could at least spring for a service call from Geek Squad, but… but…"

The change in conversational momentum finally drew his eyes up from his station, and he noticed for the first time the wide-eyed, ashen-faced look that his friend was shooting in his general direction.

"He's standing right behind me, isn't he?" he asked with a groan.

His companion slowly nodded in terrified silence.

"Heh… heh… hey boss." He hesitantly stammered, turning his gaze slowly over one shoulder. "H… how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough." Gemini cryptically replied, moving between his two cowering minions. "So, gentlemen! _Friends!"_ he declared with a jovial tone that dripped unsettlingly with sarcasm, clapping each man on the back as he did so. "What's the latest good word from our crack security team?"

"Oh, pretty much the same ol', same ol'." One of the henchmen replied. "All's quiet on the western front… and the eastern, northern and southern fronts as well for that matter."

"Mmm-hmmm. I see." Gemini nodded, thoughtfully stroking his goatee. "And pray tell, what's the story behind the cameras being off line in sector five?" he asked, pointing to a set of monitors that were currently displaying nothing but static.

"Oh, that?" the other henchman responded. "We're not sure, but surveillance in that sector went down about five minutes ago."

"We've already notified maintenance." The first henchman offered. "They're sending a tech to look into it."

"That's it?" Gemini prompted, raising that ominous eyebrow once more. "You called the I.T. department and had them send out a _guy?"_

"It seemed like an appropriate response." The second henchman replied defensively. "All other sectors are functioning normally, and given our multi-layer approach to security, the risk of a possible intruder is negligible."

"An unfortunate choice of words if there ever was one." Gemini declared, thrusting an accusatory finger at one of the still-functioning monitors: This one clearly showing the all-too familiar form of a red-headed teenager outfitted with an equipment belt and a determined scowl across her face.

Both henchmen leaned in to stare slack-jawed at the screen. It was not a sight that boded well for either of them.

"Oops." One of them managed to eek out.

"Oops?" Gemini sneered. "This isn't a Presidential primary debate, agent! 'Oops' isn't going to cut it!"

Spinning on his heel, he pointed to a trio of other agents gathered in a small cluster around a water cooler near the back of the room.

"Agent Tau! Agent Kappa! Agent Epsilon!" he roared. "Move to sector seventeen and perform a full security sweep! We have an intruder in the main service corridor headed toward the back-up generator room! I want her in restraints and I want it done yesterday!"

"Oh… uh… Yessir! Right away, sir!" the three of them promptly and enthusiastically saluted.

"And don't all stand together like that!" he added. "You look like a bunch of frat pledges when you do!"

Then, turning to face the room at large, he squared his shoulders and assumed his most intimidating pose.

"And the rest of you! Drop whatever you're doing and report to security positions, protocol Tango-Alpha-Seven-Niner!" he bellowed at full volume. "I want this entire facility locked down tighter than the Hope Diamond at a kleptomaniacs' convention! If she shows that pretty little red head of hers, there's gonna be somebody there to pound it down!

"Now as for the two of you," he grinned maliciously, turning back to face the two seated agents before him, "perhaps you would like to have a seat?"

"Uh, we're already sitting, sir." One of the agents blithely observed.

"My, my… So you are." Gemini agreed, and casually reached to a small control hidden within the wrist plate of his bionic hand. A startled scream echoed through the quickly emptying room, and the undisputed master of the World Wide Evil Empire suddenly found himself standing alone.

"Hidden trap doors? Is he serious?" one agent whispered to his companion as they both made their way to a nearby exit, faithfully carrying out their orders. "What is this? The _Looney Tunes Cartoon Hour?"_

"Shhhhhh! Keep it down, will ya?" his companion admonished him. "Don't make him start breaking out the anvils!"

"You there!" Gemini shouted, pointing a chrome-plated finger at the suddenly vulnerable-feeling young minion. "Come back over here! I have a _special_ assignment for you!"

The agent swallowed hard, took a final pleading look toward his companion, and complied with the instruction, walking timidly and tentatively over to whatever fate now awaited him at the hands of his psychotic supervisor.

He was pleasantly surprised however, when his boss's voice held no anger or malice, but rather a firm and business-like tone. Apparently he hadn't overheard the off-handed remark.

"I need you to stay here and mind the prisoner." Gemini instructed his still trembling henchmen. "Keep a sharp eye out and make sure he doesn't get loose."

"Y-y-y-yes sir!" the agent stammered, offering a grateful, even is somewhat weak salute.

"Excellent!" Gemini smiled as he turned to leave the room; well satisfied that everything was well in hand. "In that case, I'm going to go look in on Pepe. He gets so cranky when he misses his nappy time."

And with that parting remark, heavy steel doors slid closed behind him with a resounding clang, leaving the lone henchman alone with the unconscious captive. The former sighed heavily and looked listlessly about the room. The assignment was only a few seconds old, and boredom was already starting to set in…

But then given the alternative… perhaps boredom wasn't all _that_ bad.

"Sooooooooooo," he sighed again, turning his gaze to the prostrate young man before him, "Seen any good movies lately?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well here's another shorty of a chapter for you all! When I first outlined this particular sub-plot, I didn't intend for the installments to be so brief. But as I began to start putting things down on paper… er… _computer,_ these seemed like natural break points. So long story short… I ran with it, and that's where we stand right now.

Hopefully we'll be wrapping up this particular episode and returning to the main story line with the next chapter. Or at least that's what I'm currently planning. However we all know what sometimes happens to the "best-laid plans," and in my case, past experience has been a harsh teacher in driving that particular point home.

As with the last chapter, there's not a lot of jargon or technical mumbo-jumbo here, so these notes will be somewhat toward the "short-and-sweet" side of things. However, I _did_ sprinkle a liberal helping of pop culture references throughout this installment, so if you're confused or have any questions… you can look it up yourself. This is what the Internet was made for after all. (Sheesh! Do I have to do _all_ the work around here? Just _Google_ it for Pete's sake!)

As far as our next installment goes, Chapter 19 is fully outlined and writing is underway, so hopefully it won't be more than a couple of weeks before it hits the newsstand shelves. Compared to the wait I've made you endure for some of the previous chapters, the turn-around here is going to be lightning fast.

As for the rest, you all know the drill by now. Leave a review and receive a reply, and I'll catch you all on the rebound when Chapter 19 drops.

Flip side!

_Nutzkie…_


	19. Face Off!

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Nineteen ~**

Stepping back to admire his handiwork, he had to admit that it looked rather nice. Of course being the artist in question, his opinion was somewhat prejudiced. But issues of impartiality aside, he honestly felt that he had done himself proud this day.

It was sort of funny when you stopped to think about it… He never really considered himself the artsy type. Oh sure, he could certainly critique art when he saw it. Heck! When it came to making _fun_ of it, he was a bona fide master! But somewhere deep inside his soul, a creative spark had always smoldered, and at times like this he felt he could just discern the faintest glow of it.

A smile creased the corners of his mouth as he looked down at his creation, laying there perfectly motionless, giving all the appearance of someone sleeping soundly: The oversized ears… the freckle-speckled cheeks… the tightly-closed eyes… and of course his own addition to the ensemble… the pencil-thin handle bar moustache, courtesy of the felt marker that he still held, tapping it thoughtfully against his chin as he contemplated his latest work.

Okay… So Vincent Van Gogh he wasn't. But that really wasn't the point, now was it?

…Or at least that's what he always told himself.

A weak groan from his chosen canvas quickly shoved all artistic thoughts aside, however. It was time to deal with more pertinent issues.

"Well now, are we awake?" he asked with feigned interest.

"That depends. Are we wearing pink pajamas?" Ron groaned again in response.

"Affirmative," the henchman growled, "and for the record, it's a _jumpsuit!"_

"Well then we're awake." He confirmed, shaking his head clear the cobwebs and blinking to adjust his eyes. "What's up with the pen?" he asked, prompting a nervous grin from his guard.

"Nothing!" the henchman nearly yelped, quickly hiding the felt-tipped object behind him.

"Uh-_heh."_ Ron mock conceded, not liking the response, but unsure what else to ask.

Actually, that wasn't entirely true. He _was_ sure what to ask: It just didn't have anything to do with that particular issue.

"Look, dude," he began as pleasantly and as politely as possible, "I'm not looking to get you jammed up with your boss on anything, but could you maybe do me a solid and let me go use the little captive's room? I've been holding back the Red Sea ever since I got here, and if I wait much longer then I won't be responsible for my actions, if ya feel what I'm sayin'."

"Hmmpf!" the henchman scoffed. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"Hey! Do I _look_ like a camel to you?" Ron shot back indignantly. "You try going fourteen straight hours without a drain down and see how _you_ react!"

"And so I'm just supposed to let you walk out of here, disobeying a direct order, and trust that you'll come back? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"That's one of the two options on the table, yes."

"What's the other one?"

"Get a mop and find out. Shouldn't be more than about five minutes."

That last thought gave him pause. Suddenly, his mind was flooded with a parade of possibilities, none of them pleasant. Being down on his hands and knees scrubbing tile grout for hours on end, versus facing his boss's vengeful wrath. Potential actions, outcomes and consequences swirled around inside his head like a swarm of demonic gnats, forming vague images and half-finished ideas before dissolving back into the either.

"Yo, buddy. You okay?" Ron inquired, snapping his fingers and staring with curiosity at the suddenly blank-faced goon. "Hey! Earth to evil guy!"

"Huh? Oh yeah… uh… Okay! Go ahead!" he finally conceded, moving to a nearby control panel that released the restraints. "It's down the hall, fourth door on your left, past the plutonium storage lockers and the kitchenette. But be quick about it, alright? And don't… uh… ummm…"

"Don't what?" Ron asked, sitting up for the first time in what seemed like days and massaging the soreness from his wrists.

"I was gonna say 'don't try anything smart'," the henchman admitted with a shrug, "but I just remembered who I'm talking to."

If dirty looks were illegal, then the one Ron shot the hapless henchman at that moment would have landed him on _America's Most Wanted._

"Well, are you gonna go? Or do you need _help?"_ the Henchman irritably barked.

Ron didn't need to be prompted again. He took off down the hall in an all-out sprint.

* * *

What was is about villains and ductwork anyway?

As any architect worth his salt can tell you, a modern HVAC system is well capable of doing quite a bit within a surprisingly small amount of space. Provided that the system is properly engineered and well thought out, ducts no larger than one foot by two feet should be required at any point. Basically, there should be no way for a person to fit into one of these hidden passageways, provided that the person in question is older than the age of four.

And yet the villains of the world still seemed to retain the opinion that "bigger is better," perpetually building their lairs with spacious ventilation systems that amounted to hidden highways for heroes looking to enter undetected.

Not that she was complaining, of course. As far as she was concerned, if her arch foes insisted on making her job that much easier, then she would be the last person in the world to object. For as Napoleon Bonaparte once said, _"Never interrupt your enemy while he is busy making a mistake."_ It seemed a sound policy.

"So how's it look out there, Wade?" she whispered into her wrist as she peered down through the slats of the grate that concealed her position in the ceiling above an apparently empty hallway.

"All clear from my perspective." Wade replied, matching her whisper with his own. "Our diversion seems to have sent everyone upstairs, so you've pretty much got the lower level to yourself."

"Spankin'." Kim said as she began loosening the screws that held the grate in place.

"But still, be careful though." Wade warned as the grate fell free, only plunging six inches before being deftly caught by a gloved hand and hauled back up into the shadowy recess of the ceiling. "At these depths the accuracy of the scanners can be somewhat sketchy. I can't guarantee that a stray henchman won't come popping out from around a corner and surprise you."

"Understood." Kim responded, dropping silently to the floor and landing cat-like on all fours. "Beep me if you notice anything troubling. From here on out I'm going to silent running."

"Roger that." Wade replied. "I'll be keeping watch on my end. Good luck, Kim."

With the Kimmunicator dark once again, Kim began making her way toward what Wade had said looked like the main nerve center of the entire complex. She moved slowly and cautiously, taking great care to remain perfectly silent, ever conscious of Wade's warning about potential surprises around each corner.

It seemed to be smooth sailing at first. The first three corners that she encountered proved to hold nothing more than another deserted hallway. But as she approached the fourth, all of her senses snapped to high alert… The sound of approaching footsteps was ringing loudly and clearly in both of her ears.

Thinking quickly, she flattened herself against the wall and prepared to strike. Listening to the footfalls grow louder… estimating the speed and distance of her target… visualizing the exact moment when she would launch her attack.

_And then she struck._

With the reflexes and precision of a king cobra, she launched a perfect palm strike into the face of her unwitting victim. The blow connected squarely with the underside of his nose, snapping his head back and sending him stumbling backward into a sprawling heap on the floor, thoroughly dazed and in no condition to fight back.

The thrill of her victory was short lived however, as abject horror quickly spread throughout her body, causing her heart to skip at least several beats.

"Ohmigosh! RON!" she gasped, suddenly recognizing the person she had just clobbered.

"_It'z dice do see you doo, KB."_ Ron moaned, clasping his throbbing face with both hands. _"Bud I godda say, a sibble hadshake would've suffithed."_

"Oh baby! I'm sorry! _I'msorryi'msorryi'msorry!"_ she cried, rushing to his side. "I didn't know it was you, sweetie! I swear!"

For the briefest of moments, Ron actually recoiled out of fear at the sudden advance. But fears of a follow up attack were quick to pass and he allowed the concerned redhead to embrace him, genuinely glad to finally see a friendly face in this subterranean hellhole.

Make that _two_ friendly faces, as a tiny pink blur suddenly burst forth from Kim's utility pouch and immediately plastered itself across the side of his still throbbing face.

"Rufus!" Ron cried out, grabbing his favorite pet enthusiastically. "It's good to see you too, little buddy!"

"And he's not the only gift I come bearing." Kim added, reluctantly releasing her grasp. Dropping her pack to the floor and digging through its contents, she quickly withdrew a very familiar piece of equipment.

"And my utility belt!" Ron exclaimed, silently contemplating how lucky it had been that he hadn't bothered changing before going to bed the night before. Still clothed in his mission outfit and now fully equipped, he was ready for whatever fight may yet be coming their way.

"I found it on the floor in your room… Thought it might come in handy." She explained as he gleefully slipped the belt around his waist and clipped the buckle securely into place. "Now let me have a good look at you. Are you hurt bad?"

Slowly, she cupped his chin and tilted his head back, carefully examining those cherubic features that she loved so much. But the care and concern that shone so brightly in her eyes slowly morphed into confusion as she got her first good look at what had become of her boyfriend's face.

"Uh, Ron?" she asked perplexedly. "What's that under your nose?"

"Well considering the circumstances, _'blood'_ would be my first guess." Ron sniffled in a hollow, nasally tone.

"Guess again, Captain Sarcasm." Kim panned, fetching a compact from her pocket and offering its small mirror for use. His free hand instantly shot up to the point just beneath his nose when he recognized his own features.

"Awwwwww man! That wormy twerp _'stahsed_ me?" he whined in revulsion. "I am _so_ gonna get him for this!"

"Chill out, Ron." Kim chided. "It's not _that_ bad."

"Seriously! I look like _Snidley Whiplash!"_ He bemoaned.

"And you'll have your chance to get back at this guy later. But right now I need to make sure you're okay, and I need to know what Gemini wanted from you."

"It's all right, KP. I'm fine." Ron reassured his girlfriend as best he could through a still throbbing nose. "And as far as the other thing, they mostly wanted to know what I knew about our ongoing hunt for Doctor Crazy-pants."

"I see." Kim responded, already dreading the question that she knew she needed to ask next. "And did… did they… _torture_ you?" Even Rufus whimpered worriedly when she voiced the question.

Her relief was almost palpable when the question was met with a bemused grin on the part of her boyfriend.

"You'd think they would've, but no." he shrugged. "All they did was hook me up to Drakken's brain tap machine, and even _that _sorta fizzled on 'em. I think they just wound up tapping a dry keg." He rapped twice on his own temple for effect.

"Hooray for the famous Stoppable sensibilities." Kim panned in amusement.

"Hey! Sometimes it's not all bad having nothin' but air under the hair." Ron grinned right back at her.

"So how did you escape?"

"Technically, I haven't." Ron explained as best he could. "Officially, I'm just on bathroom break."

"They let you out to use the rest room?" she asked disbelievingly. For one of the more competent villains they dealt with, Gemini making such a tactical error seemed entirely beyond the pale.

"What can I say?" Ron shrugged. "The Ron-man can be pretty persuasive when he needs to be."

"Oh-_kaaaaaaaaay…"_

"So anyhooooo… Is this the part where we make like a shepherd and get the flock out of here?"

"In due time, Snidley. All in due time." Kim replied with a half-hooded gleam in her eye. "First we need to make absolutely sure that those guys didn't get anything from you that'll come back to bite us later. And secondly, I've got a small, private score to settle with that psychotic Cyclops back there."

* * *

"'Bout freakin' time! What'd you do back there? Fall in?"

"_Nee'n nee-nee nee nee neeeee… Nee nee?"_ Ron mockingly shot back at his appointed minder. Truth be told, he wanted nothing better at that particular moment than to pop the smug little punk square in the chops and scribble an entire beard across his face. But the plan that Kim had so hastily laid out just moments before called for him to act like nothing was amiss. Once again he was the distraction: Lulling their target into a false sense of security while Kim sprung the trap from behind. And so he bit his tongue and played along, consoling himself with the knowledge that at any moment, the circumstances would take a dramatic turn.

Taking his time at crawling back into the restraint lounge, he tried engaging his captor in conversation, operating on the theory that if the man's attention was focused on the conversation and himself, then it wouldn't be focused on the very ticked-off redhead who was quickly sneaking up on his blind side.

"Oh, I meant to ask you before," he casually asked, "did that whole brain-tap thing turn up anything juicy?"

"Yeah. We tested your I.Q. and it came back negative." The henchman drawled, refastening the first of the restraints.

"You don't say." Ron remarked with mock indignation. "That's strange, 'cause I always thought I tested pretty well. You know… Provided you used the 'THUMP' scale."

"The _what_ scale?" the henchman asked, shaking his head in confusion. "How on earth would you measure something on the _THUMP_ scale?"

"Like _this!"_

The unexpected comment instantly grabbed his attention… and brought his head around just in time to see a petite yet surprisingly strong fist come crashing down between his eyes, a split-second before his whole world went black.

"And _that…_ is what you call an eight-point-two on the THUMP scale." Kim remarked with a self-satisfied smirk.

"With extra points for technical merit." Ron added as Kim approached to release him from his restraints once again.

"Awwwwww, that's so sweet." She cooed, pausing to plant a quick peck on his forehead before turning him loose. "Now let's find whatever it was that they pulled out of you, scrub the files, and get the heck out of Dodge."

There was no mistaking the master terminal of the lair's extensive computer network. Its massive Jumbo-Tron-like screen dominated the entire side of the room, and its elaborate interface panel easily dwarfed all the neighboring stations in both size and scope. With Ron directly behind her, Kim marched straight up to its looming presence, dropped herself down into the operator's chair, and placed a call to the end-all authority on all things computerized and technical.

"Update, Wade! I've got Ron and we're in front of what's gotta be the main computer." She related into the tiny device. "We need to access Ron's files, copy 'em, and wipe it clean!"

"On it!" Wade responded, quickly working his particular brand of magic across the multitude of keyboards in front of him. As his fingers flew, multiple streams of data began to flash across the scoreboard-like screen, which the teen duo anxiously scanned.

"Wow!" Kim remarked, staring wide-eyed at the digitized data logs. _"This_ is everything that's in your head?"

"Yep. Pretty amazing, huh?" Ron shrugged, haughtily brushing his fist across the front of his shirt.

"At least now I understand why your room is such a disorganized disaster zone."

"Yeah… heh. I suppose I _could_ stand to improve my filing system somewhat."

"Do you _really_ think that Muammar Gadaffi was just Lionel Ritchie dressed in drag?"

"Oh c'mon! Like _you've_ never seen a picture of that guy and thought the exact same thing!"

"Hmmm… Fair 'nuff."

"Glad we agree. Now can we _please_ just spike the system and amscray? I've got brain cells that are going to remember this place and I need to get a start on destroying them with video games and soda pop."

"Video games and soda pop?"

"Guaranteed to rot your teeth and your mind."

It seemed like a sound idea, (the "amscray" part… not the "teeth and mind" part), and Kim was just about to concur when the familiar whooshing sound of pneumatic doors drew their attention to the far side of the room, where an all-too-familiar face was just then re-entering.

"All right now. You sleep tight, Pepe. Daddy will be back in a hour with Snausages and your favorite chew toy." Gemini cooed in a sickly-sweet tone that four out of five dentists would never recommend. "Whose a good boy? Huh? Whose a good… good… _oh good grief!"_ His mood immediately soured upon seeing just who was present in his inner-sanctum.

"Well now. Miss Possible, I presume." He contemptuously sneered. "I see you managed to out-wit my security patrols and release your friend. Although I must say, his contributions to ah… ah…" The awkward pause was both sudden and unexpected, especially coming from a villain as gifted with the evil monologue as himself.

"…What happened to your face?" he asked quizzically, tilting his head to one side and staring questioningly at Ron's upper lip.

"Nothing." Ron grumbled under his breath.

"Seriously. Did you join a _mariachi_ band while I was out?"

"No! And can we _please_ move things along here?"

The evil mastermind regarded the young man with a final questioning glance through his one good eye before shrugging his broad shoulders and pressing on with the issue at hand.

"Very well, then." He sneered. "I suppose I won't waste time asking why _you're_ here." He looked pointedly at Kim.

"Actually, there's _two_ reasons." Kim explained, to spite the glaring lack of a question. "One: Nobody, and I mean _nobody,_ abducts my boyfriend and gets away with it."

"And _two?"_ Gemini scoffed, obviously unimpressed by the former cheerleader's declaration.

"Two would be _this!_ Hit it, Wade!" she spoke into her wrist.

For a brief moment, an ominous silence hung heavy across the room. An eerie "calm before the storm" sensation that abruptly ended with a literal explosion of light and sound as the main console erupted in a shower of sparks. Great arcs of electricity then leapt from one terminal to the next, propagating the wave of destruction throughout the system in a massive chain reaction of short circuits and electrical overloads. Processors fried, capacitors blew out, motherboards melted down and smoke billowed from every conceivable crevice as the entirety of the lair's network fell victim to Wade's precision-targeted spike. By the time that the towering monitor at the center of it all flickered violently and plunged into static, then darkness, the damage was done, and the elaborate intranet that had once been the beating heart of a multi-million dollar underground bastion of evil lay in ruins; a scorched and smoldering shadow of its former self.

"Gah… wha… but… daaah…" The flabbergasted felon gaped and gawked at the overwhelming devastation. "Our data logs… Our email archives… My high score on Donkey Kong! YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!" He raised his mechanical wrist to his face and glared across its metallic surface at the two teens. His voice lowered forebodingly.

"All agents, report to primary control center, on the double." He growled with barely contained rage. "Two… repeat… _two_ enemy assets present and unsecured. Contain and neutralize immediately!"

"Pffft! As if, dude." Ron dismissively waved off Sheldon's instructions. "'Cause in case you haven't checked the scoreboard lately, we're one and oh versus you and your little crew."

"Two and oh." Kim corrected. "You're forgetting the senior year _'Project Titan'_ slash _'Incredible Hulk'_ incident."

"Oy! Did you have to bring _that_ up again?" Ron winced at the memory. "But regardless, my point still stands. The track record here is sitting pretty squarely in our favor."

"Riiiiiiiiight…" Gemini continued to sneer down the length of his nose at the young man. "And _this_ wisdom comes to us from a person who once wondered if you could put chocolate frosting on yellow cake uranium."

Kim favored her boyfriend with a sideways glance.

"Wow. For real?"

"Hey! It was part of the recipe, alright!" Ron responded defensively.

"Tcha! From _The Anarchist's Cookbook."_ Gemini smugly added.

"Well ex-_scuuuuse_ me for not reading subtitles!"

The conversation could have almost certainly gone on from there, but any further questions regarding culinary literature were precluded when the several sets of doors that surrounded the room burst open in unison, disgorging several dozen jump-suited henchmen, all of whom appeared rather displeased to see the teenaged crime fighters.

"Oh, would you look at that. Hail, hail… The gang's all here." Kim derisively observed, shifting her position to stand back-to-back with Ron. It was a tactic they had practiced countless times in the past when faced with superior numbers, allowing them to cover each other's blind side and effectively negate the numerical advantage.

"Well… What are you morons waiting for? An engraved invitation?" Gemini roared, looking disapprovingly over his men. "GET THEM!"

The first wave charged like a herd of enraged bulls, but the teens stood their ground. The first man to reach Kim received a roundhouse punch to the jaw for his trouble. The second didn't fare much better, falling victim to a vicious spin kick that connected with his abdomen and doubled him over like a neatly folded napkin.

Ron meanwhile, was comfortably holding his own. To spite lacking his girlfriend's fighting skills or natural athletic ability, he managed to dispatch the first goon he faced with a straightforward jab that landed squarely between the man's eyes and sent him teetering straight back like a great pine tree falling to the lumberjack's saw. The next henchman in line decided on a different approach, attacking more from the side, apparently hoping to find a weak point on the young blonde's flank.

"On your left!" Ron called out, deflecting the wild haymaker of a punch and using the goon's own momentum to send him stumbling past his intended target. The move sent the hapless henchman beyond Ron's right shoulder, and directly into Kim's flying left elbow, which thanks to Ron's warning, she had raised just in the nick of time.

"Nice." Kim remarked, blocking another punch and lashing out with a right cross.

"Thanks. Just doin' what I can." Ron replied, bracing himself for two more goons who were lining up to take their respective shots at him.

This went on for several more minutes, with magenta-clad men attacking and falling back in turn. Finally, with both sides out of breath, the henchmen retreated to a safe distance and counted their losses. Their numbers had been whittled down somewhat by the teens' stubborn defense, with a half-dozen or so of their comrades lying cold-cocked on the floor. It was time for a different strategy: A sentiment that the two teens shared.

"So what now?" Ron asked between heavy gulps of air.

"New plan." Kim answered, her own breathing heavy but steady. "Divide and conquer!"

The two teens split up in different directions, taking up positions along opposite sides of the room. Kim quickly found herself in the seemingly unenviable position of being backed into a corner by a gaggle of a dozen henchmen, but when pitted against such unskilled brutes with no room for anyone to get behind her, she actually felt right at home.

Ron, on the other hand, chose a more open and mobile strategy of keeping all avenues of escape available, and instead placing solid objects between himself and his tormentors. In this particular case, the object he chose was a stainless steel table, upon which lay the brain tap cap, still tethered to its base unit.

"Just give it up already." Sneered the larger of the two henchmen he was currently facing. "You can't keep running away from us forever."

"Yeah, true that." Ron casually grinned in agreement. "But you're forgetting about one thing: The element of _SURPRISE!"_

With the flick of his wrist, he grabbed the helmet and flung it like a Frisbee at his aggressors. It sailed straight and true, a whirling metallic missile, locked squarely on the large man's face… Right up until the moment that the wires snapped taut.

With its forward momentum suddenly gone, the helmet hung momentarily suspended in mid-air, just six inches from the man's nose. Then, in a near mirror image of it's previous trajectory, it snapped back in the opposite direction and clattered onto the table in exactly the same position where it had started.

The henchmen shared a curious glance between them, then turned to grin malevolently at their young target.

"Huh. Well _that_ could have gone better." Ron remarked, looking dejectedly at Rufus. "Guess we go with _'Plan B'_ then."

Rearing back and putting all of his weight behind the blow, he placed a solid kick on the edge of the table, sending the heavy piece of furniture skidding across the polished tile floor. Almost instantly it collided with the larger man, slamming hard into his gut and driving the air from his lungs.

But things didn't stop there. With its momentum barely diminished by the impact, the table continued careening along its original path, sending the first man tumbling into his smaller partner and dispatching both of them to the floor in a sprawling heap, clearly in no condition to continue the fight.

"And that's how _I_ turn the tables." He grinned, extending a finger to exchange a tiny high-five with Rufus.

The victory celebration was cut short however when a third man, larger than either of the first two, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wall.

"Now look here, you miserable little punk!" the exceedingly sizable man growled directly into Ron's face. "You may be pretty handy at rearranging the furniture, but now I'm gonna rearrange your… your… Say, what's up with your face?"

"_Nnnnnngh!_ Could we _please_ just get over the face thing already?"

The henchman simply tightened his grip and laughed at the young man's obvious discomfort.

"Really?" he scoffed. "And pray tell, what exactly do you plan to do to make _that_ happen?"

"_This."_ Ron replied, and promptly grabbed the wrap-around sunglasses from the goon's face… A split-second before thrusting his index and middle fingers into each of the man's eyes.

Howling in pain, the stunned man dropped Ron to the floor, grabbed his face and stumbled blindly backwards. He managed four unsteady steps before tripping over his two fallen comrades and striking his head against the edge of the table. After that, he was rather quick to join his friends on the floor.

"Well how 'bout that." Ron commented, smiling at his own handiwork as he rose slowly to his feet. "I've always said Curly was a genius."

"_Nnnn-huh, nnnn-huh. Nyuk… nyuk... nyuk!"_ Rufus clucked in agreement.

Meanwhile, across the room, Kim was holding her own. Having repulsed the first wave with little difficulty, she was deftly dealing with the second, leaving a steady stream of disheveled henchmen to limp away in retreat, clutching a varying array of sprained arms and sore ribs as they went. She was winded to be sure, but definitely getting the better end of the deal.

…And that was something that Gemini simply could not stand for.

Snorting with disgust at the utter incompetence he was forced to deal with, he turned on his heels and began ascending a flight of stairs toward a raised dais that stood slightly offset from the center of the room. He had a look of determined confidence on his face: The mark of a man who was about to do something big and very much serious.

It was a look that Rufus didn't like one bit.

"_Hurk! Nnngh, nnnnnnnngh!"_ he loudly squeaked, poking and prodding his master's freckled cheek. He pointed excitedly at the retreating form of the supervillain in their midst, leaving no doubt as to what was so concerning to him.

"Good call, little buddy. _That_ looks like a man whose up to something." Ron agreed, eyeing Gemini suspiciously. "Better check it out." He began following the malicious mastermind up the steps, taking care to stay far enough behind as to blend in with the unfolding chaos around them.

By the time he reached the top of the stairs, Gemini was standing before what appeared to be the only computer terminal to have survived Wade's wave of electronic annihilation, entering some sort of command prompt into the system.

"All right then. Let's see you beat _this_ back, little missy." He growled under his breath.

"Ho boy. _That_ does not sound good." Ron moaned to his pet.

It was at that moment that the hobbled retreat of the henchmen became a mad dash for cover, as a great clattering of machinery cascaded down from above. Several ominous-looking devices extended downward from recessed cavities in the ceiling and swiveled into pre-programmed positions: Positions that left them pointing directly at Kim.

"Well done, Miss Possible. Well done indeed." Gemini declared, slowly clapping with as much facetious enthusiasm as he could muster. "You've managed to take care of the help. But you're going to be the one in need of help once you've faced _this!"_ He slammed his mechanical fist down onto a very large, very red button that to Ron's trained eye might as well have been labeled "TROUBLE."

"Look out, KP!" he screamed out in warning. "Self-activated lasers at… uhhh… let's see… one… two… three… ummmmm… EVERYWHERE O'CLOCK!"

Responding almost reflexively to Ron's warning, Kim dove and rolled to her right, just as the first laser charged and fired, leaving a darkened scorch mark across the floor where she had been standing just a half-second before. The next blast drove her even further to the right, and the one after that drove her back toward the wall behind her. She bobbed, jumped, flipped and weaved her way across the room, dodging wave after wave of directed energy, desperately searching from some sort of shelter to retreat from the line of fire and come up with an exit strategy.

Unfortunately, as evil lairs went, this one was far more organized than those she was ordinarily used to. The normal villainous clutter of crates and scary-looking equipment was nowhere to be found. WWEE had apparently decided to go the "streamlined efficiency" route when setting up their latest outpost, and the current repercussions of that decision were nothing short of maddening.

The situation was dire: Dire enough to spur a normally timid sidekick into action. Thoroughly forgetting the reputation of the person he was currently sharing the dais with, Ron roughly pushed his way past Gemini and launched himself into the tried-and-true strategy of pushing every conceivable button that he could find.

"C'mon! _C'mon!_ There's gotta be a 'de-activate' button here somewhere!" he said to no one in particular. "And how is any of this even working? I thought Wade's electro-destructo thingy knocked all the computers out!"

"Isolated system." Gemini informed with a smug hint of arrogance. "No network connections of any kind and a fully independent power source… totally immune to nasty little surprises like viruses and power spikes."

But except for a few scattered words, Ron didn't hear any of the towering villain's explanation. He was far too busy redoubling his efforts, frantically searching for the one magic button that would end all of this and send them traveling home victorious: just as they always did.

Gemini simply laughed derisively at the young man's plight. He crossed his arms and stretched himself to his full, arrogant height, confident that after all the frustrations and setbacks that this operation had encountered, a massively satisfying payoff was now within reach.

"Don't even waste your time." He snorted. "Targeting is fully autonomous with this system, and the fire command can only be overridden with a special security code."

He didn't even bother to look in Ron's direction as he spoke. The acrobatic exhibition unfolding below him was far too entertaining to waste time watching an inconsequential underling. Besides, championship-level cheer skills aside, the redhead was still human, and her human frailties were now starting to catch up with her. She was tiring: Already having made a pair of near-fatal mistakes, and it would only be a few moments longer before the law of averages finally caught up with her and put the firebrand crime fighter out of the villain community's misery once and for all.

"Do you see now, the utter impossibility of your cause?" he continued to explain, rubbing salt ever deeper into the young man's wounds. "The simple fact at the heart of this matter… of _all_ matters… is that evil will always win, because good is _dumb!"_

Yes, in just a few more seconds, he would be forever known as the greatest super-villain of the modern era: The criminal mastermind who killed the great Kim Possible. He threw his head back and laughed a deep, boisterous belly laugh, savoring every sweet morsel of his impending victory.

_*Click*_

It was a sound that the man also known as Sheldon Director was not expecting, and yet one with which he was intimately familiar. It cut his victory laugh off sharply in his throat and sent cold chills coursing up and down his spine. He turned slowly toward the sound, knowing full well what he'd find, and yet still not entirely believing that it could be true.

But sure enough, as he turned his head fully to his right side, there it was: The sidekick whom he had been so eager to dismiss just moments before, standing there with fire burning in his eyes and his jaw set solid as concrete, arm outstretched, an automatic pistol leveled directly at his head.

"Good… Evil… It really doesn't matter." Ron said in a flat monotone that gave no indication as to the inner turmoil that was raging just below the surface. "I'm the guy with the gun."

A thousand questions raced through Sheldon's mind in that moment, not the least of which was the issue of when exactly did the sidekick start packing heat? But they were thoughts that would never be given voice, as Ron quickly pressed ahead with his own set of questions.

"I take it from your previous statement that you know the code?" he pressed.

Staring into the single black eye of Ron's Glock left the ordinarily articulate megalomaniac at a temporary loss for words. He coughed and stammered as he grasped for an answer; his mind still trying to wrap itself around the concept that through some miracle of fate, this pint-sized stripling had actually managed to get the drop on him.

"What? Did you swallow a feather duster? _Spit it out, already!"_ Ron demanded.

"Wha… What makes you so sure I know the code?" He offered meekly in a transparent attempt to stall for time.

"Because you're a raging control freak who wouldn't trust this crew of shaved gorillas with the parental control features on your TiVo, that's why!" Ron shot back, clearly in no mood for such games. "Now do you know it, or should your tech department start fitting you for a bionic _head_ as well?"

"Yes, I know it." Gemini grudgingly conceded. He hated giving in so easily, but with the current circumstances he couldn't see much of a choice.

"Good! Then enter it!" Ron said, grabbing the much larger man roughly by the shoulder and pushing him toward the console.

Staring blankly at the array of high-tech equipment before him, Gemini scanned the various displays and control clusters for something, _anything_ that might still get him out of his predicament.

"Hey! Are you hard of hearing or something? I said _enter_ it!" Ron barked, planting his boot solidly into the back of Gemini's knee and driving the oversized villain to the floor. His chin connected squarely with the console, and when the flashbulbs finally cleared from behind his eyes, the master control cluster was just inches from his face.

"I… I don't work well under pressure." He offered as defiantly as he could, which by this point was proving to some pretty weak sauce.

"Really?" Ron snarled. "Then how's _this_ for _pressure?"_ He pressed the muzzle of the Glock firmly into the base of Sheldon's skull, indicating without ambiguity that he was done playing around.

"Let me break this down for you, _Lefty!"_ He spat directly into Gemini's ear. "If Kim goes down, then _you_ go down. _Got it?_ That's the whole story. Period… paragraph… printed! It doesn't even matter whose fault it is. My fault… your fault… nobody's fault… If Kim's so much as _scratched_ by that machine of yours, then I'm gonna put a slug square through the back of your smug little head, and the only earth you'll be ruling will be a plot eight feet long by two feet wide by six feet deep. Ya' feel me, bro?"

A curt nod was his only reply.

"Super. Now _do_ it!"

Reluctantly, Gemini abandoned all pretense of looking for an out and entered the code on the primary keypad, finishing the task with a double-tap of the "commit" button. He sighed dejectedly as the lasers he had spent so much money on, and which had brought him so close to ultimate victory, quickly complied with the order, powering down and withdrawing back up into the recessed compartments from which they had come. So close… and yet so far.

With the danger past, Kim abruptly stopped her evasive gymnastics and slumped to her knees amidst the pockmarks that now dotted the scorched and battered floor. She was exhausted, her flowing auburn mane a disheveled and sweat-matted mess, but she appeared otherwise in good health and none-the-worse for wear.

"Are we done here?" Gemini sneered, his belligerent attitude unbowed. Just because his lair was in ruins and his plan in shambles… that was no reason for him to stop being the same old bully he had always been: He _did_ have a reputation to maintain, after all.

"Yeah, we're chauncy." Ron stated, withdrawing his weapon from behind Gemini's ear. "Except for one thing. Now what the heck was that anyway…" he pondered as he thoughtfully tapped his chin with the fingers of his free hand. "I beat your brain tap thing… got free… shut down the lasers… _oh yeah! That's right!"_

With a single, fluid motion he raised his pistol high above Gemini's head and brought the butt of the grip down hard onto the peak of his skull. There was a resonating _"thonk"_ that was audible throughout the lair, and his one visible eye turned decidedly inward toward its counterpart before he collapsed forward and slumped across the console, the consciousness knocked clean from his mind.

"Nighty-night, fuzz-face." He sneered at the unmoving form. "Rufus! Take care of this _dork_ for me!"

Offering a zip tie from the pocket of his cargo pants, he left the mole rat to tend to business and stepped down from the dais. At that moment, there were more pressing issues that required his attention.

* * *

"Look, I'm not asking for red carpet treatment here. I'm just sayin' that it would be nice if some of these lairs offered valet parking is all."

"Relax, Ron. It's only a couple hundred more feet to the car."

"Uh-huh. And what are the chances that a majority of those feet aren't _vertical_ in nature?"

"Very limited."

"And _this_ is what I'm saying."

If they were forced to admit it, both teens would have likely said at that particular moment that sliding down a forested mountainside with a thousand-foot sheer drop beyond was likely the most pleasurable thing that they could be doing: It meant that the worst of the mission was behind them.

Following his cold cocking of Gemini, Ron had met up with Kim near the center of the destroyed lair and they had both given each other a once-over inspection to ensure that no serious injuries had been sustained. By the time Rufus returned from restraining the nefarious head of the World Wide Evil Empire, the two teens had completed their medical "debriefing," and had most of the henchmen similarly wrapped up.

As usual, Global Justice had showed up just in time to miss out on all the excitement. Relegated to the roll of mopping up after Team Possible yet again, Will Du voiced his objections in his typically passive-aggressive way, while Doctor Director seemed to take it all in stride. She had pulled the teens aside for an informal debriefing while her agents began the task of processing the henchmen and prepping them for transport back to G.J. headquarters. Then, with the promise of a more in-depth debriefing in the relative comfort of her office once they all returned to Middleton, the one-eyed crime fighting czar had dismissed them with a salute and wished them a safe trip home.

And so the bucket seats of the Sloth never felt so comfortable by the time that the teens reached the vehicle and slid themselves into its relatively spacious interior. Kim let out a luxurious sigh as she slipped behind the wheel and let herself melt into the soft upholstery: A sentiment and a sound that were both echoed by her boyfriend as he did the same on the passenger side of the cabin.

"So, home then?" Kim asked, glancing across the car at her boyfriend as he adjusted the recline position of his seat.

"Yeah, let's blow this pop stand." He enthusiastically concurred. "I think I've had just about enough of Europe for a while."

"True that." Kim nodded in agreement, turning the key and listening to the satisfying sound of the Sloth's high-performance hybrid engine roaring to life. She paused momentarily for the engine to warm up, and in that moment she pondered a question that had been nagging at the back of her mind ever since Ron had descended those stairs back in the lair.

"So would you?" she finally asked, pushing the conversation forward on the premise that if she didn't ask now, the mental nagging would only get worse.

"Would I… _what?"_ Ron blinked in confusion. Clearly, he had no idea what his girlfriend was talking about.

"Would you have pulled the trigger?" she clarified in a somber yet serious monotone.

Ron sighed deeply and sank just a little deeper into the seat. Somehow he should have known that this question was coming.

"Highly unlikely." He finally concluded after several seconds of thought. "I mean… _he_ was the only one who knew the code. Kinda hard for him to enter it if he's dead. So when you think about it, to keep _you_ alive, I needed _him_ alive."

"True… true. That's a good point." Kim thoughtfully agreed. "But what if I _wasn't?"_

"Come again?"

"Alive, Ron. What if I hadn't made it?" She softly explained. "You probably didn't see, you were so busy pushing buttons, but I actually missed a couple of jumps there near the end. So what if I had _really_ messed it up and one of the beams had got me? Would you have shot him _then?"_

Uncomfortable silence was the only response from the right side of the car. For the longest time Ron sat with his eyes locked straight ahead, focused on nothing. Every synapse and neuron in his brain was working overtime, grappling for an answer that would be acceptable, not only to Kim, but also to himself as well.

"I… I'm… I'm trying _really_ hard not to think about it." He finally conceded, sinking dejectedly back into the seat. He _so_ hated moral quandaries.

Fortunately, reassurance came from across the cabin in the form of a comforting smile and a gentle hand upon his shoulder: A hand that he covered with his own, returning the smile in full measure as well.

It was with some reluctance that Kim returned both of her hands to their ten-and-two positions on the wheel. Powering up the Sloth's thrusters, the car quickly responded by sailing vertically upward until it had cleared the tops of the trees. Then, with a twist of the wheel, she banked sharply to the west and set the modified coup on a course toward home.

"Sooooooo… Bet you're gonna be sleeping pretty well tonight, huh?" she asked conversationally as she checked her mirrors, more out of reflex than from any real threat of someone trying to pass them 500 feet up in the sky. "I mean, after all you've been through over the last forty-eight…"

The scene from across the cabin answered her question better than any mere statement ever could. Ron was sprawled out in his seat, dead to the world. With his head cocked to one side and his mouth hanging open just a sliver, he looked for all purposes like a man who could sleep for a week. And in all honesty, the truth likely wasn't very far off from that assessment.

As she sat there watching the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest, she noted that it held something of a hypnotic quality about it: Strange, she thought, for something so simple. And she found it equally curious that to spite the awkward, semi-upright position he was in, he didn't really seem to snore. He made noises to be sure, but it seemed more akin to a gentle wheezing: Something that if she were pressed to describe, she might be inclined to simply call it a "breathing sound." It was actually sort of endearing, when she really stopped to think about it.

Smiling across the space between them… drinking in the peacefully slumbering form… the cherubic features that she loved so much… She felt her chest fill with a pride and a warmth that told her all was indeed well with the world once again. Her universe was as it should be.

"Sleep tight, hero boy." She whispered softly into the silence…

"_You earned it."_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Well now… I suppose _that_ was something of an exciting finish, now wasn't it? I sincerely hope I didn't leave any dissatisfied customers. But the band is back together once again, and except for some veiled inklings of darker issues yet to come, (read _"Rise of Rhodighan"_ for the scoop on future developments there), is apparently none the worse for wear. "All's well that ends well," as Shakespeare once so famously said.

And once again, if some of the character lines in this chapter seem vaguely familiar to you, then there's probably a good reason for that. There were certain points where I, shall we say _"borrowed,"_ material from pop culture sources such as movies and the media. I'll leave it to the more culturally clued-in among you to identify what's what.

And so with this little side-trip all wrapped up, the next chapter should be getting us back to the main plot of the story. But I should warn you folks; we're getting pretty close to the end here. As things currently stand, I'm looking at about another two chapters before I give this thing the long kiss goodnight and put it to bed for good. Feels strange… after all this time.

But anyways, that's basically a wrap for this chapter. I'm sure you're all intimately familiar with the drill by now: Leave a review and receive a reply… Reciprocity is the key to any relationship… yadda… yadda… yadda… You get the drift.

Oh, and since I likely won't be posting again before the end of the year, please allow me to use this opportunity to wish each and every one of you a very merry Christmas, and the best New Year imaginable! Happy Holidays to one and all!

God bless us all… everybody!

_Nutzkie…_


	20. Served With a Twist

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Twenty ~**

The brightly-colored sports coupe rocketed through a crystal sky high above the great plains, its passing lending a flash of iridescent pink to the uniform palate of azure blue. The gently rolling landscape of rivers and wheat fields seemed a world away to its occupants as they cruised along in comfort, bucket seats and air conditioning their welcome companions.

Both sat in comfortable silence. One held his nose buried deeply within the glossy pages of the latest trendy periodical. The other held her gaze firmly on the clouds before them, but the act of flying was little more than a cover: A smokescreen of sorts for the thoughts that were truly raging beneath her furrowed brow.

And when she took her eyes from the sky and engaged the car's autopilot, it was time for those thoughts to be voiced.

"Ho boy." Ron remarked as he looked up from his reading. "This is going to be either really good or really bad."

"Why? How do you mean?" Kim asked inquisitively.

"Because whenever you turn on the cruise control like that, it means you either want to have a serious talk, or you want to hop into the back seat for some serious making out." He drolly explained. "So which is it?"

Kim took a moment to silently regard her significant other with an unreadable expression.

"Don't bother undoing your seatbelt."

"Aw _man!"_

"Ron… We need to talk."

"_Double_ aw man!"

"And I don't mean about _that!"_ Kim cut off his line of thought before it got too far out of hand. "I mean we need to talk about something that's a little more cerebral."

"Well in that case, I'm all ears." Ron replied, flicking one of the oversized appendages and drawing a slight giggle from the redhead beside him. He shifted in his seat to face her and waited attentively for the conversation to begin.

"It's about the college sitch…" Kim began with a sigh.

Suddenly, Ron felt a lot less enthusiastic about the topic.

"Summer's almost over and well, we need to make some sort of decision." She continued. "I've been putting off any sort of decision on my end until we could figure out what was happening on yours, but it's already August now, and you still haven't heard anything back, and well… The bottom line is that I can't wait any longer." She finally admitted with a groan of utter resignation. It was an admission of defeat that pained her to no end, but now it was out there: Just as it needed to be.

From across the cabin, Ron regarded her silently for several seconds, carefully contemplating his next move.

"So what are you going to do?" he finally asked.

Kim simply shook her head in the negative.

"What are _we_ going to do, Ron?" she corrected. "This sitch affects both of us, so we both get an equal say in how it games out."

"But it's _your_ future, KP!"

"So are _you!"_ she shot back at him. "Don't you see? You're just as much a part of the future I envision for myself as any career or college degree! Yes, I want an education and a successful path in life! I want a career and a family and a legacy to leave behind! Those things are all important! But it's _just_ as important that I have _you_ there with me to share it all with! If I don't have that, then none of the rest really matters!"

Ron could only stare blankly into the teeth of an admission that had just simultaneously warmed his heart and rocked his core. Clearly, his girlfriend's thinking on the topic went far deeper and stretched farther down the road than he had ever previously suspected.

"And so I ask again," Kim continued with downcast eyes, "what are _we_ going to do?"

"Honestly, I don't know, KP." Ron dejectedly sighed. "I mean, if I'd even gotten _some_ sort of response, then at least I'd have something to put on the table here. But without anything concrete to contribute, I've really got nothin' at all. Besides, when I really get to thinking…" He let the unfinished sentence dangle in the space between them.

"What? What is it, Ron?" Kim prodded.

"Nothing." He shrugged, averting his eyes. "It's just something stupid that I was toying with is all."

"Well it's not like there's a whole lot else on the table right now," Kim dryly observed, "so if stupid's what you've got, then let's hear it."

"Honestly, KP. It's totally ridiculous."

"And I'm _honestly_ interested in hearing it! So _spill!"_

"Well… It's just that… I was thinking… maybe…" he began to hem and haw.

"Ron!"

"Maybe I don't _want_ to go to college, alright!" he nearly shouted, regretting his words as soon as he had uttered them. As amazing as it seemed, his thoughts sounded even dumber after voicing them.

Staring at him from the driver's seat, Kim's lips silently and fruitlessly went through the motions of creating words. Ron's sudden admission was not what she was expecting, and she now found herself thoroughly incapable of mounting any sort of verbal response. Not go to college? Was he clinically insane? Had he suffered a recent concussion? Had Gemini's brain-tap machine done some sort of long-term damage? Or was there perhaps a strange hidden genius at work here? All potential answers were troubling to the tenth degree.

"Ah… I'm sorry. Would you mind repeating that?" she stammered after several seconds of stunned silence. "I think I had something _crazy_ stuck in my ear."

"You know what? Just forget I said anything." Ron huffed, slouching in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. He turned his sullen gaze out the window as if willing the entire situation to simply go away.

"No Ron. It's okay, really." Kim tried to console him, reaching across the car to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's just that, well, you kinda surprised me just then. But I'm interested in what you have to say. Really, I am."

Ron sighed and looked across the car, seeing the genuine interest in his girlfriend's eyes. Silently, he supposed that he really should explain himself. After tossing out that sort of a bombshell, he owed her at least that much.

"It's just that I've been thinking, and well…" he hesitantly began. "How many times now have we been around the world together?"

"Honestly? I've lost count." Kim admitted. Although she seldom took the time to think about it, the number of miles that they had racked up over the years was truly mind-boggling.

"Exactly." Ron concurred. "And in all that traveling, how much of the world did we really get to see? And I'm not talking about hotel rooms and cargo planes and the damp insides of some of some strange lair. I mean _real_ sights that we _really_ got to see."

Kim placed a finger to her chin and pursed her lips in thought. Honestly, aside from a few brief glimpses of famous landmarks while skydiving or swinging from her trusty grapple, she couldn't recall any notable places that they had visited. Their globetrotting adventures had always been too full of investigation and intrigue to allow for much in the way of sightseeing. They typically jumped in, busted the bad guys, gave a quick debriefing to the local authorities and were back on a plane headed home within a few hours, especially if the events happened to fall on a school night.

Much to her dismay, she found that she was forced to agree with Ron's apparent assertion: That to spite having saved the world dozens of times over, she had never really gotten to see or know that world in any detail. It was like she had spent her life saving a stranger, and that simple fact troubled her more than she ever suspected it might.

"Okay, I'll concede your point." She admitted, quickly collecting her thoughts. "But giving up on your education just to spend a few months on a world tour? C'mon Ron! Even _you_ have to admit that's total craziness!"

"Well I'm not saying that I'm gonna give up on college all together." He defensively insisted, holding up his oversized hands in a gesture of placation. "Just for a year or so, or maybe even just a semester. I really don't know. But I've just got the feeling that we've both been missing out something important all these years, and I don't want to wait until we're both old and dead before catching the show."

"Old and _dead?"_

"Alright, old and _half_-dead then! Or _retired,_ maybe. It's all pretty much the same. I just don't want to put off doing all those things until we're too old to do them. 'Cause, you know… That would majorly suck."

"Okay, maybe you've got a point there," Kim conceded once more, "but do you really think burning an entire semester is really the best use of our time?"

"Well why the heck not?" Ron begged in askance.

"Well for one thing, all those schools…"

"Will still be there in a year's time." Ron completed her sentence for her.

"And Sensei's offer to attend Yamanuchi…"

"Also… still there."

"Okay, true. But my acceptance letters…"

"They'll _also_ still be good." Ron finished again. "They're not like milk, KP. They don't carry a 'best if used by' date. Especially not for someone of your stature."

"Yeah, but we can't just up and take off for destinations unknown!"

"And I repeat: _'Why the heck not?'_ We're young… we're relatively unattached… we've got the resources and if we decide to schedge ourselves creatively, we've got the time! Face it! There's never going to be a better opportunity than this! So why not take major advantage, throw planning out the window, give conventional wisdom the finger and just run with it?"

"Well, uh… I… I still don't know…" Kim managed to get out. Ron's thinking was so far off from anything that she had even remotely considered, and yet the more she thought about it, the harder it was to deny that there was actually a certain bizarre logic running through it all. His suggestions were almost all crazy and perhaps even a tad irresponsible, but there was no denying that they were both in a position where they could afford to be a little irresponsible. The fact was they _were_ young and unattached, as Ron had so keenly observed, and while her meticulous type-A personality usually prevented her from acting so impulsively, she also craved excitement in her life, and there was no denying the sense of adventure that was implicit within his words. Even her father… king of button-down collars and sensible planning… had once remarked that youth was wasted on the young. So as she now stood at the cusp of adulthood, Ron's words rung through her ears with a surprising truth: Why the heck not throw caution to the wind and strike out toward unknown horizons? What did either of them truly have to lose?

But even still, the course of one's future doesn't change on a dime, and old ideas tend to die hard.

"I… I'll have to think about it." She finally relented. It was all just so much to process, and they both really needed to start getting into their mission mindset.

"That's all I'm asking." Ron replied with a grin as a comfortable silence settled over them. For better or for worse, the issue at hand had been laid bare, and they would both deal with it in due time.

* * *

"Ya' know, when I envisioned this place, this isn't nearly what came to mind."

"It's the back side of Mount Rushmore, Ron? What did you expect it to look like?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe four giant butts sticking out at you or something?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"About what?"

"Never mind."

Even with as used to Ron's antics as she was, every once in a while his disorganized mind came up with something that still managed to astound her. It was the product of a potent cocktail of creativity, child-like wonder and non-linear thinking, and if he ever managed to harness its power, she suspected there was no limit to what he could accomplish.

As they slowly picked their way through the trees toward the sheer ridge in the distance, the land began to assume a noticeably steeper incline. A multitude of boulders and other loose rocks made the going slow and the footing precarious, but they pressed onward nonetheless, following the trail of electronic breadcrumbs Wade had left for them. They used trees and crevices to assist their climb, finding handholds and toeholds wherever they could, all the while giving continual thanks for sturdy gloves and even sturdier boots. They fought for every inch of elevation, until finally they broke through the tree line and stood face to face with a yawning portal at the base of a sheer granite cliff.

Twelve feet high it stood, and perfectly rectangular, it's walls of white granite quickly dissolving from daylight into the unlit interior. There was no architectural embellishment of any kind to be seen, giving the appearance of a half-finished monument whose creators had simply lost interest. The only grandeur was that of scale, and perhaps of vision. It was at once both a breathtaking and disheartening sight.

"Looks like this is the spot." Kim observed, taking note of the surroundings. "The back door to Mount Rushmore."

"Why do I feel like I'm about to give Teddy Roosevelt a colonoscopy?" Ron pondered with a shake of his head.

"Okay… first of all, _eew!"_ Kim winced in disgust. "And second, it's _so_ totally not like that at all. It's just a cave cut into the side of a mountain."

"I still feel like I should be asking him to turn his head and cough."

"Ugh! Let's just get this over with, alright?" she groaned, leaping forward from one irregularly shaped rock to another. "The sooner we get done here, the sooner we can get on with… not being here."

It wasn't long before the pair was probing the dark recesses of the cavern interior. The walls were irregular but smooth, and the space was more or less symmetrical, leaving no doubt about the man-made origins of the structure. The shadows were long and deep, but not so bad that unaided sight was impossible, and it was decided to spare the batteries in their flashlights, at least for the time being.

"So let me get this straight." Ron spoke up after they had traveled about fifty feet. This was supposed to be some sort of grand library thing when it was all done?"

"A hall of records, technically." Kim corrected. "The guy who designed this place thought they'd put the Constitution and Declaration of Independence in here someday. No clue whether he asked the folks at the National Archives what _they_ thought of the idea."

"Okay, okay. I gotcha. But regardless of whether they ever used it or not, did they ever _finish_ this place?"

"Based on everything that Wade has told us, no."

"Okay again. Then that raises another question."

"And that would be?"

"Why the heck _that_ thing is here."

Staring into the shadows, Kim was quick to notice Ron's meaning. Straight ahead at the far end of the passage was something that was most definitely NOT part of the original blueprints: A set of giant steel doors, fifteen feet tall, set directly into the heart of the living rock.

"Now _there's_ something that just screams _'lair-ish.'"_ Ron observed, craning his neck upward to take in the whole of the structure.

"Agreed." Kim… well… agreed. "Let's go see who's home."

As they approached, certain details began to emerge from the shadows. The doors were certainly steel, but they weren't polished to a high-mirror shine, as were most of the villainous entryways that they'd seen over the years. Instead, these were roughly sanded to a dull, almost gunmetal finish, leaving them partly concealed by the darkness. To the left hand side, and control panel of some sort stood mounted flush with the wall, about four feet off the roughly hewn floor.

"Huh. Kind of a fancy doorbell, if you ask me." Ron remarked, eyeing the softly glowing device warily. "So which one of these buttons do you suppose rings the intercom?"

He yelped in surprise and jumped backward when the small box itself unexpectedly answered him, its low and booming synthetic voice filling the chamber with a level of volume that was surprising for a device so small.

"_If you wish… to pass here through… prepare yourself… to answer true!"_ it said with the dramatic flourish of a big-budget movie trailer announcement.

"Great! Another flippin' riddle!" Ron groused, shoving his hands into his pockets and slouching. "Man! This guy is _really_ starting to get on my nerves!"

"By this point, I think we've established that it's pretty much his theme." Kim commented dryly, regarding the electronic device with an expression that ranked somewhere between contempt and boredom. "So let's get on with it then. Hit us!"

"_I have millions of eyes, yet I live in darkness…"_ the disembodied voice declared, _"I have thousands of ears, but only four lobes… I have no muscle, yet I rule over two hemispheres. What am I?"_

"You're… something I really don't wan to run across in a dark alley at midnight?" Ron sheepishly offered, earning a glare from Kim.

"Alright! Alright! 'Serious sitch.' I get it!" he relented, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'll dispense with the wisecracks. Although I gotta say, it's nice to finally be off that damn rhyming kick."

"Understandable, but hardly helpful." Kim observed, thoughtfully stroking her chin. Figuring _this_ one out was going to take some doing.

So you wanna call Wade, then? Or maybe _Google_ it or somethin'." Ron offered as helpfully as he could.

Kim didn't respond. Her attentions were now firmly focused on more pressing matters. With eyes cast downward in furious contemplation she silently ran through an endless series of possibilities, giving each and every one due consideration before discarding it in turn. This was nothing like their previous challenges. In those situations, there had been time: Time to return home and sleep on things for several days while the train of thought cooled its wheels in the station. But this… This was on-the-spot problem solving. The synthetic being before her had posed a question, and it demanded an answer… _immediately._ There was no retreating to a safe distance while they thought things through. There was no turning away.

"Uh, earth to KP? Hell-_looooooooh!"_

Startled, she sheepishly turned to her boyfriend, suddenly realizing how deeply entranced she must have just seemed.

"Sorry, Ron." She sighed, her eyes downcast. "I guess I kinda zoned out there for a moment."

"Pffft! More like _spaced_ out! Clear off the planet!" Ron chortled. "From the look on your face just then, I thought your brain was about to explode and come oozing out your ears."

And it was with those simple words that something in Kim's mind clicked. Even though it had been intended as nothing more than a clever remark to break the tension, Ron's statement had nonetheless stirred something deep inside of her thought process, bringing clarity to what only moments before had been chaotic and disorganized half-thoughts. It was an instant of near clairvoyance, and in that solitary instant, she knew she had the answer.

"Sweetie?" she coyly cooed.

"Yeah."

"Did I ever tell you you're a genius?"

Ron blinked in confusion, and chanced a quick look around to make sure there wasn't someone standing behind him.

"Who, _me?"_ he begged questioningly. _"Maybe her brain really DID explode?"_ he silently pondered.

But Kim seemed to notice none of it. She simply stared straight at the wall-mounted device, her round face bearing the smug expression of a person who knew she had already won, and was simply waiting for the final shoe to drop.

"You're the human brain." She authoritatively declared.

"_You have answered… correctly! Pass at your leisure!"_ the computerized voice confirmed, and the entire cavern shuddered as the great steel panels began to recede back into the granite walls, revealing a brightly-lit interior beyond.

"Alright! 'Fess up!" Ron shouted over the booming rumble, shielding his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light. "How did you…?"

"It was simple, once I got the right inspiration." She suggestively declared, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "The brain has millions of synapses and neural-receptors for processing sight and sound, and it's got two hemispheres and four lobes."

"Yeah, but how did you _know_ all of that?"

"My mom's a brain surgeon. _Remember?"_

"Oh yeah, right! That always slips my mind."

"Acknowledged. Now c'mon, inspiration boy!" she authoritatively declared, grabbing him by the arm and veritably dragging him forward. "Let's see what happens when we move toward the light."

"Nothing good, if you believe every movie you've ever seen."

Kim ignored the remark as they both moved forward. Almost immediately it became clear that this was unlike any other lair that they had been in. Absent were the towering stacks of packing crates and the bubbling tanks of mysterious green liquid. This facility had a much more open and airy feel about it. Brightly lit and well organized, it exuded an almost antiseptic quality. And in the center of it all, hunched over a large desk with his back turned to them, was a hook-nosed man with unkempt hair and a white lab coat who looked vaguely familiar.

"Bingo." Kim remarked under her breath.

"I believe this is what they call 'paydirt'." Ron added with a triumphant whisper of his own.

There was an awkward moment of silence that passed between them. After so many months of searching, and running down what seemed to be an endless series of clues, to finally be standing within a few feet of their objective came as something of a shock. They honestly hadn't expected to find the quirky genius so easily, and the surprise left them unsure of what came next.

"Soooooo, what do we do now?" Ron sighed in askance, never taking his eyes off the diligently working figure at the desk.

"Honestly, I haven't got a clue." Kim shrugged in resignation. "But I suppose the polite thing to do would be to simply walk over and say hello."

"Meh… Works for me." Ron shrugged, turning toward the doctor's hunched form. "Hey! What's up, Doc?"

The center of the room exploded in a blizzard of paper as Doctor DaLive jumped five feet straight into the air.

"Ron!" Kim growled ominously.

"What? I've always wanted to say that!" He whined defensively in response.

Spinning around and clutching his chest with one hand, the doctor straightened his glasses with the other and regarded the two young people who had seemingly appeared from nowhere within his inner sanctum.

"Oh! Hello there." He said, almost as if he was expecting their arrival. "You're here about that spot on the carpet, right? It's over there in the guest room, right in front of the sofa."

"S'cuse me?" Kim asked in astonished confusion.

"You're the team from Stanley Steamer Carpet Cleaning, aren't you?"

"Uh, dial one-eight-hundred, _so-not-us_ dude." Ron informed the eccentric scientist.

"Oh, my apologies then." The doctor acquiesced, taking a appraising look at the two. "Sooooo, who are you then exactly?"

"We're the treasure hunters you sent for." Kim helpfully offered.

The doctor simply blinked in confusion.

"From that new program on the Knowing Channel?"

"From that open casting call you put out about three months ago now."

_(More confused blinking.)_

"The _power_ source? The whole _come one, come all_ thing?" Ron insisted, snapping his fingers for effect. "C'mon! Work with us here, dude! It's been a long trip!"

Slowly, a look of recognition began to work its way across his face.

"Oh! _That!"_ he finally cried, placing an astonished hand to his head. "I'm quite thoroughly sorry! I've just been working down here for so long now that sometimes I completely forget about certain items."

"I see. And exactly how long have you been down here, by the way?" Kim inquired as she took an appraising glance around the room. The surroundings were Spartan to say the least, with very little in the way of personal effects. A closed door to one side led to what she could only assume was the living quarters, but other than that, only a few photographs on the wall were present to offset the large quantity of clinical materials.

"Oh, it's hard to say. A person tends to lose track of such things after a while." He shrugged as he set about collecting the scattered papers from the floor. "I figure it's around three or four years now, or there about." He abruptly stopped his collection duties and thrust an accusatory finger toward a darkened corner of the room.

"I think that man over there is watching me." He whispered conspiratorially, causing Kim to squint in that direction.

"Uh, that's a coat rack, Doctor DaLive." She informed him.

"Really? I guess it's been four years then."

"Oh-_kaaaaaaaay…"_ she hemmed as she tried to discern whether the man before her was wearing a white coat because he was a doctor, or because he had just escaped from an insane asylum. "Now that we've cleared that up, there's still the business of…"

"Hey! What's the deal with these over here?" Ron spoke up. He was standing over by the far wall, looking at a row of matted pictures that hung in plain black frames.

"Oh, those?" Doctor DaLive answered as he glanced in Ron's direction. "Those are pictures of famous disasters. I keep them around as a reminder that nothing I or anyone else creates will ever be perfect: That failure is always an option."

"Ah! I get it." Ron nodded in understanding as he stroked his chin appraisingly. "So I see we've got the San Francisco Earthquake over here, followed by the Titanic and the Hindenburg. But who's this guy over here on the end with the million-dollar smile and the nicely quaffed hair?"

"Him? That's Michael Dukakis."

"Ah! I gotcha."

"Annnnnnd _that_ concludes today's lecture in Art Appreciation one-oh-one." Kim remarked, more than eager to get on with why they were all there. "Now if it's all right with you, I believe there's a big reveal that you were planning for us?"

"Yeah, that's right!" Ron agreed, turning around as if he had just remembered the purpose of their presence. "We're the first to finish the course, so we get dibs on first prize! Time to show us the money, dude!"

Doctor DaLive straightened himself and adjusted his coat at Ron's declaration, his approving grin telling them that he agreed whole-heartedly with the assessment.

"Very well then." He smiled. "Since you are the only ones so far to successfully follow my trail, you have proven yourselves worthy of such knowledge. Come… come!"

Quickly, he led the pair to another side of the room where a rolling dry erase board sat beneath a particularly bright set of fluorescent lights. "Now pay close attention, both of you, for what I am about to reveal will no doubt change the world." He began to explain with all the theatrics and over-the-top enthusiasm of a circus ringmaster.

So this was it… The moment they had been striving toward for all these long and tedious months. After countless miles and missions, and facing untold dangers, their journey was finally at an end. Along the way there had been confusion, danger, fear and triumph. There had been trips around the world… exploding lairs… sleepless nights spent pondering opaque riddles… encounters with old foes and the making of new acquaintances. It had been a roller coaster of emotions. And now it was all coming to an end. In mere moments the secret of unlimited power would be delivered squarely into the hands of good, and the world would be a better place because of it.

"Are you aware that the annual appreciation rate for residential real estate has been more than five percent over the last twenty years?"

"_Come again?"_ they both reflexively asked.

"Think about that for a second! That's better than twice the rate of the stock market: Supposedly the best long-term investment one can have."

"Okay. Let's call time out for a sec, here." Kim broke in, making the universal gesture for the sports fixture. "Apparently our signals are still getting crossed. We're not here for financial advice. We came because of the message you broadcast advertising some sort of ultimate power source."

"Yes, that's right." The doctor confirmed with a knowing smile as he flipped the white board over to reveal a complex series of computations and formulas, all of them clearly financial rather than scientific in nature. "The power to determine your own financial future is the greatest power of all, wouldn't you say? Now as I was saying, when you compare market trends against over-under projections by sector, you begin to see a correlation between…"

The two teens stood slack-jawed as Doctor DaLive continued his pitch, neither truly listening to the words, both too astonished to interrupt.

"So we came all this way…" Kim finally managed to squeak out.

"And fought through all those bad guys…" Ron continued her line of thought.

"And found all those clues…"

"And faced all that danger…"

"And the hours…"

"And the miles…"

"_For a real estate investment scheme?"_ they both completed the tag-team sentence in unison.

"Please… _Opportunity advancement seminar."_ The doctor corrected as if mildly offended by their choice of words. "Now to continue, leveraging one's way into the market isn't easy, but if we use the S&P 500 index as a hedge…"

He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his young audience had completely stopped listening. If he hadn't been, he might have noticed the conspiratorial conversation that was developing between them.

"So which do you want? The right or the left?" Kim asked Ron, cracking her knuckles.

"Hmmmm… I'll go with the left, I guess." He shrugged as he popped his neck to one side, then the other. "But be sure to wait until I've got a good grip this time, okay?" he added as they both began approaching the doctor from opposite sides. "Last time, I didn't even have a chance to make my wish."

"Oh, good idea! Step right up and get a closer look!" the doctor beamed at their approach. "Now you see what I'm doing with this figure here is… yes, move in close for a look… that's right… I'm creating a P/E ratio for comparison against… okay, that's a little _too_ close now… the market averages for the period of… seriously now, personal space issues… six months prior to… Hey! That's my pen, and I'm gonna need it back! Anyway, the six months prior to… _Ow!_ Okay, that hurt! But I don't see any need for… _Ow!_ Stop that! Seriously, didn't your parents ever teach you any… _OWW!_ Get off of me, you no-good little… _Ooof!_ Careful now! That's not supposed to bend that way! And what are you going to do with that eraser in your… _Aiiieeeeeeee!_ Alright! I surrender! Do what you want with… _Ah-haaaaaaaah!_ Just take the wallet! TAKE THE WALLET! MOM-MEEEEEEEEEEEE-HEE-HEEEE…!"

* * *

Twenty minutes later, two figures descended the slope that they had only just climbed less than an hour before. Neither spoke, and to spite the serene location, both carried expressions of supreme annoyance.

"Of all the rotten, no-good, low-down, dirty, bait-and-switch…" Kim finally began venting as she swung her way around a tree and hopped over a particularly large rock.

"Yeah, not exactly the prize pack I was expecting." Ron agreed as he slid down the rock behind her. "Although in his defense, he never _did_ say what the power source was precisely."

The look his girlfriend shot him could have re-frozen a snow cone on a hot sidewalk.

"Hey! I'm just sayin'!" Ron defensively whined, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Honestly, I'm on your side in all of this! And while I'm thinking of it, I gotta say that was a pretty innovative use of a protractor back there." He added. "Nope. I never thought geometry could be useful until you did that."

"The idea just sort of came to me." Kim growled with a general sense of frustration. "I figured it was only fitting for someone as insanely _obtuse_ as him. Nice job yourself with that slide ruler, by the way."

"Thanks!" Ron beamed. "You know, I've always wondered what one of those was used for."

"Not for what _you_ did with it," Kim was quick to clarify, "but still effective, nonetheless."

"So what do we do now?"

"Honestly?" Kim sighed as she pulled up short, pausing their trek through the trees. "I have no idea. I just want us to get home and do whatever we can to put this whole miserable waste of a summer behind us."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess I can see that." Ron agreed, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. "You know, since money was kind of the topic back there, and it just so happens that I've got a twenty in my pocket right now, do you think we could…"

"Forget it, Ron! Whatever it is you're thinking, the _last_ thing I want to be dealing with right now is anything of a financial nature!"

"…swing by Bueno Nacho to forget over a couple of chimmerito combo meals?" he finished his sentence, eying his girlfriend warily.

"Huh?" Kim blinked in surprise. It wasn't the direction she was expecting him to go. And yet it was so clearly the one she _should_ have been expecting.

"Oh, uhhhhh… yeah, Ron. Lunch sounds good." She agreed upon finding her voice. "In fact, it sounds _really_ good."

"Well then what are we waiting for?" he jovially inquired, gesturing toward the base of the mountain. "The drive-through may be open twenty-four-seven, but standing here isn't going to get us any closer to it."

Allowing him to take the lead, Kim quickly fell into step behind her boyfriend and let the brilliant rays of Ronshine light the way. His enthusiasm and child-like wonder were almost contagious, she had come to learn, and their presence reminded her that even while things may not always turn out the way she expected, in the end, they would always turn out the way she wanted.

As long as they were together, that much was assured.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Now how's _that_ for a twisted ending, huh? Apparently our heroes were expecting something different, based on all of the hype. But in the good doctor's defense, he never did say what _kind_ of power he was offering. The devil is truly in the details.

And as for the question of whether or not Team Possible's response constitutes an over-reaction, I'll leave it to those of you who have ever sat through a vacation time-share sales pitch to make that determination.

Now this will be one of my shorter note sections, as the surprising lack of technical mumbo-jumbo means we have very little to discuss. However, that doesn't mean that our story is over. There's still a short epilogue chapter to come, so stay tuned for that. It should be hitting the newsstands in the next couple of weeks.

Having said all that, I'm sure you all know the drill by now: Leave a review and receive a reply. It's a policy that's served me well over the years and I see no reason to change it now. Stay safe out there, and I'll catch you all on the flip side!

Later, gators!

_Nutzkie…_


	21. Looking Forward Looking Back

**Assorted Legal Mumbo-Jumbo:**

As usual, I don't own Kim Possible or anything associated with her. All KP-related items are the property of the Disney Channel and their army of ravenous lawyers who are the reason that I'm writing this. I suppose that the story idea itself could be construed as "mine," but that doesn't mean that the legal eagles out there won't try to claim otherwise.

In any case, read the story, leave a review, and look both ways before crossing the street.

(The preceding contains 100% Grade "A" disclaimer.)

Enjoy!

* * *

**~ Chapter Twenty-One ~**

The mid-August breeze made its way, warm and inviting, through the open window. Wafting lazily past the dancing curtains it carried on its feathery tendrils the scents of backyard barbecues and freshly cut grass… of lilacs and rain trees… swimming pools and sun tan oil. It was the scent of summer, and the season had never smelled sweeter.

Breathing deep, Kimberly savored the aroma, its varying textures reminding her of the freedom this season entailed. The memory of carefree afternoons spent riding bikes and playing in the yard with Ron brought a smile to her face, as did most other memories of the tow-headed teen. It was such recollections that often sustained her in her darker moments, and they were the primary motivation behind what she was doing now.

With the faint clicking of keystrokes, she placed a final few words upon the screen and leaned back appraisingly in her chair, critically regarding the product of her efforts. This was an important project… one of the most important that she'd recently faced. But even in the face of such pressure, she felt confident in the results of her labors. It felt solid… It felt right. Now if she could only get the opinion of another person to confirm her assessment.

"Hey there, KP! Whatcha up to?"

_Now that's what you call timing!_

"Ron! Just the person I wanted to see!" she smiled, turning in her chair to face him. "C'mere and tell me what you think of this."

"Okeedokee." He agreed, crossing her attic bedroom to peer at the screen from over her shoulder. "So what is it that I'm looking at here?"

"Hopefully, it's the resolution to our whole college sitch." She admitted, crossing her arms apprehensively. "Obviously the whole deal is major big, so I just want to make sure that I totally nail it. Be honest… Tell me what you think."

"All right then." Ron agreed, leaning forward to squint critically at the screen. "Let's see what we've got here."

"_Dear (insert title),"_

"I've got lots of schools to respond to." Kim answered her boyfriend's questioning glance. "Wade set me up with a database of all the contacts in the various admissions departments. The computer will insert the correct names before I send them off."

Ron simply nodded in understanding before continuing with his reading.

"_Thank you for your generous offer of admission to (insert name of school). I am flattered that my personal record has been deemed deserving of such consideration._

_However, it is with the deepest regret that I inform you I will not be accepting said offer at this time. For after much reflection and the weighing of many available options, I have decided that the best course of action for my own personal development is to embark on a period of self-exploration and world travel."_

Surprised, Ron paused to favor his girlfriend with another questioning glance, but she simply responded with a reassuring smile.

"You're sure about this?" he asked to be certain. "'Cause I was just spit-balling there in the car, you know. You don't necessarily _have_ to take anything I said seriously."

"No, Ron. I understand what you were saying." She confirmed, reaching behind herself to cup a comforting hand over his cheek. "And you were right. We _haven't_ ever really seen the world. And considering how many times we've saved it, that's really just a shame. So I say it's time we fixed this whole issue. We need to do this, Ron… for us if for nothing else. And I do want it to be _us_ that does it. Not me… not you… _us."_

Looking down into her eyes, he favored her with the warmest smile he could manage. The fact that someone as perfect as her could ever be so committed to a person like him never ceased to boggle his mind. He leaned forward and their lips met for several rapturous seconds before they reluctantly parted and he resumed his reading duties once more.

"_It is my sincere belief that by seeing the world in this way will serve to broaden my personal horizons, open my mind to new experiences and new ideas, and ultimately leave me better prepared to face the rigors of college coursework and the demands of a higher education."_

"Nice spin." Ron nodded in approval. "The whole _'broaden your horizons'_ and _'better prepared'_ angle really sells it."

"Yeah. I figured that when talking to college folks, packaging it as its own freelance educational opportunity would go over well." Kim shrugged, settling back into the chair and allowing Ron's oversized hands to envelop her shoulders. It was a welcome gesture that she silently savored.

"_Although I respect your admission policies and understand that there are many qualified applicants to be considered, I earnestly hope that in a year's time when I return from my travels, (insert name of school) will still maintain its generous offer, previously set forth._

_I look forward to communicating with you on this subject at a future date._

_Sincerely,_

_Kimberly Anne Possible_

_Middleton, Colorado"_

Ron's eyes mimicked the blinking of the cursor as he stood there contemplating what he had just read. Meanwhile, Kim sat apprehensively by, enjoying his tactile ministrations but also awaiting his verdict regarding her work.

"Wow!" he finally managed to say, although his one-word judgment seemed inadequate in Kim's eyes.

"Wow?" she begged in askance. "Is that all you've got for me? Can you at least say whether it's a good wow or a bad wow?"

"It's a _terrific_ wow." He clarified, staring wide-eyed at the screen. "Seriously, KP. I think you totally stuck the landing with this!"

Kim released a heavy breath that she had been unaware of holding. Hearing Ron's glowing assessment did wonders for her mood and took a major load off of her chest. She could breath easy now, knowing that at least this hurdle had been cleared.

"Okay then. That makes that a wrap." She emphatically declared, grabbing the mouse and clicking "print." "So now all we have left is to get final approval from the 'rents, and we'll be good to go." Standing and stretching, she strode confidently to the printer in the corner and collected the freshly produced pages.

"So how did they take the news that you're putting off the whole education thing for a year?" Ron absent-mindedly asked as he wandered over to the dresser and gave close inspection to one of her many cheerleading trophies.

Kim pulled up short at his question, a fresh wave of apprehension washing over her.

"Actually, they don't know about it yet."

"Come again?" Ron spun around, eyes wide. "You mean you haven't _told_ them?"

"Actually, this _is_ going to be my way of telling them." She grinned sheepishly, ruffling the papers in her hand.

For his part, Ron appeared thoroughly unamused.

"First of all, you're sounding _way_ too much like my folks right now," he said, "and secondly, that's a pretty big bombshell you're getting ready to drop there. Are you sure you're prepared for the war that's gonna follow it?"

"I figure I'll manage." She said with an unconvincing sigh. "But besides… I'll have back up along. So it won't be _so_ bad."

"Really? Who's that?"

She shoved the stack of papers into his hands and raised a knowing eyebrow in his direction.

"Awwwww man!" he whined, realizing that he had just been volunteered. "Your dad's so totally gonna blame me for this."

"Don't worry, sweetie." She reassured him, placing a gentle peck upon his cheek. "I'll be there to back you up, just like you'll be backing me up. We'll tell them what we're planning, explain why, and then follow the discussion wherever it goes from there."

"I still sense the presence of a black hole in my future." Ron moaned insistently.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron. Daddy loves you like a son, and you know that as well as I do." Kim continued to insist. "And besides, if he ever _did_ try anything crazy like that, then they'd have to make sure there were two seats on that capsule because I'd be there right along with you."

"Sure. You say that now…"

"And I mean every word of it. I go where you go, Ron. I'm serious about that." She admitted softly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him close so that her head nestled beneath his chin. "Whether it's on missions or off to college or on a round-the-world trip, we're partners. That's why I'm planning this the way that I am. Because wherever the road of life leads us, it leads us both. It really is about _us_ Ron. It's always been about us."

Snaking his arms around Kim's waist, he closed his eyes and momentarily savored both her words and her proximity. For someone who grew up believing himself to be a life-long loser, he sure managed to wind up the luckiest damn guy on the face of the earth.

"_Eat your heart out, Lou Gehrig."_ He whispered to no one.

"What was that?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" he responded a little too hastily. Kim raised a suspicious eyebrow, but quickly dismissed it as yet another example of her boyfriend's essential "Ronness."

"So are you ready to go down and face the music?" she asked, pulling back from him just far enough to look him in the eyes and read his expression.

"As long as we're going as a tag-team, I'm ready for anything." He assured her, tucking the letter under his arm and saluting smartly. "Lead the way, oh captain my captain!"

With an affectionate smile, she knelt down to open the hatch in her bedroom floor and began the descent to the lower levels of her family's home. She knew the coming conversation was bound to be an uncomfortable one. After months of pushing her toward their own alma maters, followed by any prestigious university they could think of, the idea of their only daughter putting off college entirely was not going to be received well. Already, she could hear her mother's judgmental questioning and her father's stern lecture about the value of an education and how kids these days just didn't appreciate what they had.

But she could deal with that… She could deal with all of it. Just as long as she had one thing, and she could currently hear that thing descending the steps about two paces behind her. The thought brought yet another smile to her face.

Separate, they were ordinary teenagers, making their ordinary ways in an ordinary world. But together, they were something truly extraordinary: They were Team Possible.

_Together… they could do anything!_

**~ The End ~**

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Wow! Twenty chapters… 141,836 words… four-and-a-half years… and God only knows how many hours of sitting here banging my head against this keyboard… all to get to this point. This truly has been an incredible journey.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all those of you who have stuck with this story throughout its duration. There were many times when the updates came slow and the ideas dried up and I honestly considered abandoning this tale to the graveyard of unfinished stories that so often litter this site. It was at those times when I thought of you, my loyal readers, and through that found the motivation to sit myself down in front of this blasted computer and force my fingers to do some talking.

As for where we go from here, the door is wide open to any and all possibilities. (No pun intended.) If I was forced to take an educated guess, I would have to admit that there's an unfinished second chapter to my story _"Past Remembrance & Future Promise"_ that's been languishing in Limbo on my hard drive for many months now. So if you you're a betting person, the odds are I'll probably finish that up before moving on to any new material. Beyond that… who knows. But hopefully inspiration will strike at some point in the future, and I'll feel compelled to sit down, log on, and start the creative process anew once more.

But until then, I bid best wishes and best of luck to all those out there in the KP fandom! May your hearts beat true, your fingers write fast, and may your collective love for our favorite characters never die!

Oh! And as a final note, major props to Eddy13 for spotting the reference in the previous chapter. The riddle at the doors was a pull-quote from Batman: The Animated Series. Specifically, it's from Season Two, Episode 12: "If You're So Smart, Why Aren't You Rich?", where we have our first meeting with "The Riddler." (At least it's our first meeting in that particular incarnation of the franchise.)

Signing off!

_Nutzkie…_


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